As Far as the Universe Reaches
by Kleinchen
Summary: sequel to "I Left the Ninety-Nine". When Spock comes back to the Enterprise, Jim thinks all his problems are over. But it turns out he was wrong - their problems have only just begun. Kirk/Spock, with background Sulu/Chekov, Scotty/Uhura, McCoy/Chapel
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Guessss whoooo? ;D

That's right, we're back! This here, ladies and gentlemen, is the sequel to _I Left the Ninety-Nine_. **If you haven't read it, please read it before reading this! I can assure you this fic will make no sense unless you've read_ Ninety-Nine_ first. **I'm very excited to be showing it to you guys here, and I hope you're all excited too!

**A quick note**: I'm actually not done with the story yet. It's actually only about halfway done, but already it's looking like it's going to be quite a bit longer than _Ninety-Nine_ was. As such, I'm going to be **updating with one chapter a week (every Saturday)** until the story is fully written, at which point updates will be every other day, the way they were for _Ninety-Nine._

**Also, warnings**: this is going to be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster of a read. There will be **lots of angst **interspersed with servings of fluff so keep that in mind**. The majority of this story will be T-rated, but there is heavy language, some violence, and some sex.** If for any reason a chapter needs to be **M-rated, it will be clearly marked at the top of the chapter.**

Anyways, here it is! As always, **comments and critiques are welcomed**. I now present to you: _As Far as the Universe Reaches. _:)

* * *

Chapter One

"_In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on._" -Robert Frost

* * *

In the morning, the lights in Spock's quarters turned on slowly, gradually, like the rising of the sun through a window. The lights dappled in Jim's vision and coaxed him from his sleep in spite of the fact that the alarm had not yet gone off, meaning that it had to be sometime between 0630, when the lights were programmed to start turning on, and 0700, when the alarm was programmed to go off.

His mind was hazy and unfocused for a moment until the sound of deep, calm breathing next to him pulled him fully into consciousness and slowly he sat up, blinking groggily until his vision was clear.

Spock lay a careful distance from him, on his back with his hands clasped over his chest, eyes closed and expression untroubled in slumber. For a moment Jim gazed down at him from where he sat with his back against a pillow – gazed down at the beautiful Vulcan sleeping next to him and lamented the fact that although he could look (for now, at least), he definitely could not touch.

He was not waking up next to Spock because he was sleeping with him. Well, he was _sleeping_ with him – but just sleeping and nothing else. It was silly, really – Jim could not even remember the last time he had woken up next to someone, and now that he was it was for all the wrong reasons. His lips curved in a faint, ironic smile at the thought.

One week ago, Spock had returned to the _Enterprise_ after a seven-month absence. In that one week, Spock had woken five times in the middle of the night screaming as though he were being murdered – and that was why Jim was now waking up next to him.

The first time it had happened, the day after Spock's return, Jim had woken to the sound of the Vulcan shouting in the adjoining room and had stumbled through the connecting bathroom in a bleary, half-awake panic. Spock had been writhing in his sheets and it took a hard slap in the face for Jim to wake him. When he was jolted awake he immediately had stumbled to his feet and to the corner of his quarters, gasping for breath and fighting against tears and Jim had watched him silently in spite of the many questions tumbling through his mind – because Spock had been screaming _his _name (and definitely not in a good way). Certainly that alone was enough to pique anyone's curiosity, but Jim was both curious and very, very worried as Spock had stood across the room from him, his back facing the captain but his shoulders heaving visibly. When it became apparent Spock was not going to talk about what Jim had assumed was a nightmare, he began to head back to his quarters to go back to bed – only to be stopped by a whispered plea from the Vulcan.

"Please stay."

And that was how he ended up sleeping with Spock.

Once more he had woken up crying out for Jim. Twice he screamed and begged for his mother in a mixture of Standard and Vulcan, and once he had been sobbing entirely in Vulcan and Jim couldn't tell what or who it was about, but Spock had been weeping openly when Jim finally managed to shake him awake.

It wasn't so bad for Jim, not really. Mostly it was just disconcerting to see Spock so vulnerable, so at the mercy of his emotions in his sleep, the only time his Vulcan walls were not in place. It was unsettling when it happened, but that was all. The episodes only took up maybe half an hour of his sleeping time and he took some small pleasure in falling asleep next to Spock. But he wanted more – more that Spock would not (or maybe could not) give him.

The evening of the day Spock had returned to the _Enterprise_, Jim had hesitantly asked him what "this" meant for them. Spock had simply raised an eyebrow and replied,

"It means you are once again my Captain and I am once again your First Officer."

"That's all?" Jim had replied, feeling decidedly let down.

"I believe so, sir." An uncomfortable silence settled over them until Jim managed to blurt,

"Spock, I love you." Another incredulous eyebrow lift, and without even an awkward pause, Spock replied succinctly,

"I do not believe you."

"You don't – _what?_" Jim exclaimed, flabbergasted. "What, you think that when I kissed you, it was some kind of – some kind of trick to get you to come back?"

"I do not know what that kiss meant," Spock replied evenly, steadily meeting Jim's flustered gaze. "However, to so suddenly enter a romantic relationship as you appear to desire – I am... uncomfortable with the idea." Jim stared at him incredulously until finally he managed to work up the brainpower to reply,

"Well. I guess that means I'll just have to make you want it, too, then."

And so that was why Jim was sleeping with Spock, but not sleeping with him. Quite a tragic story, if he did say so himself.

Suddenly the alarm began beeping, bringing Jim back to reality and causing the warm Vulcan body lying next to him to breathe in deeply and stir. Slowly Spock sat up next to Jim, blinked away a moment of disorientation, then muttered,

"Alarm, off."

"Good morning," Jim murmured faintly, grinning at Spock's tousled hair and still-sleepy gaze. "Sleep okay?"

"I am sufficiently rested," Spock replied, nodding once and looking back at Jim. "I trust you are as well?"

"Yeah," Jim replied, grin widening. "I'll shower first. Wanna grab breakfast together?"

"I cannot. I have an appointment with Dr. McCoy to review the results of my physical last week."

"Oh. Okay, then. How about a game of chess tonight?"

"I am available this evening."

"Awesome. All right, then, I'll see you on the bridge."

With that, Jim got out of Spock's bed, walked into the bathroom, and turned on the sonic shower.

* * *

It had not been an easy first week back for Spock.

Even before that, it had been stressful enough arranging his sudden (and, according to the Admiralty who had no qualms about informing him of their opinions, controversial) return to Starfleet and the _Enterprise_. When he had first set foot back on the ship, Jim had been there to greet him and their hour together was pleasant – very pleasant, much to his surprise.

But as soon as Jim had gone back to the bridge, Spock had to report to Sickbay for a standard physical, and that was where things had become sour.

The moment Dr. McCoy had stepped into the examination room, Spock knew that whatever dislike the doctor had harbored for him in their time together, it had only increased tenfold in his absence. McCoy had entered the room silently and looking pointedly away from the Vulcan, speaking curtly only when necessary in clipped tones. At the end of the physical, Spock asked slowly, hesitantly,

"Is something wrong, Doctor?"

"How am I supposed to know? Maybe you've forgotten, but these results aren't exactly instantaneous," the doctor had snapped in reply. Spock pursed his lips, retaining his dignified stature, and clarified,

"I meant if there was something wrong with you." Anger flashed on McCoy's face and for the first time that day he met Spock's eyes, glaring fiercely.

"You know what? Yeah, there's something wrong. It's not me, it's _you_," McCoy snarled. "You're what's wrong. Jim may be a saint for even acknowledging you exist, much less letting you back on the ship, but guess what? I'm no saint. I know what you did to Jim – you nearly killed him in every sense of the word and I was the one who had to clean up the mess you left behind in his heart. I saw how you destroyed him and I couldn't do anything to make it better. And I've spent the past seven months despising you for it and just because Jim's given you a clean slate doesn't mean I will, because I _won't_. So you listen to me – if you ever, _ever_ hurt Jim again, I'll make sure something nasty gets slipped into your next round of scheduled vaccines. Or maybe Starfleet would like to know why you _really_ resigned. But it'll be something unpleasant, and that's a promise."

They stared at each other for a long moment before Spock managed to reply,

"I see." His voice was faint and he cleared his throat. "I trust you are done, so I will take my leave. Goodbye, Doctor."

He had hurried with as much dignity as he could muster out of Sickbay, thoughts reeling. He supposed he could understand why McCoy was not fond of him, but it did nothing to ease the sting of the doctor's vicious speech.

And then that conversation with Jim had occurred, leaving him with a slew of questions and jumbled feelings that he had since been meditating on. What Jim was asking for was not undesirable, but the ever-logical part of his mind could find no reason for Jim's request and so he was hesitant to pursue it. He had always been fascinated by the young captain – captivated, even, if he were so poetically inclined – but as far as he was concerned Jim should, logically, thoroughly despise him. While Jim had already proven him wrong on that account, there was a decided difference between "tolerance" and "romantic affection", and so Spock still had his trepidations.

The next day Uhura had approached him as Alpha shift was going on their lunch break.

"Can I talk to you?" she had asked fervently, and after a brief moment of hesitation he had responded in the affirmative. They had then stepped into an empty briefing room on the way to the officer's mess hall and Uhura had turned to him and murmured,

"Why?"

"I do not understand your question," Spock replied, honestly perplexed.

"You... You left so suddenly, everyone knows something must have happened but no one knew what. I guess I just wished you had at least told me _where_ you had gone, I was so worried about you, Spock..." She looked away as if in shame and Spock was uncertain how to reply.

"Please understand," he began slowly, choosing his words carefully, "At the time of my departure I was not myself. In my absence I... I could not..." He trailed off uncertainly, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the subject matter and with Uhura's pleading gaze. "Even now I cannot give an explanation. It is not mine to tell. I was not the only one involved."

"So it was something with the Captain?" she pressed, digging for clues. Spock closed his eyes. He wished to be honest with her – but he could not.

"Yes," he replied simply. She peered at him for a long moment, then slowly reached out to touch his shoulder – his discomfort was, to her, almost palpable.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I won't ask anymore. I should just be grateful you're back. I thought I would never hear from you again, Spock." He was silent – how could he tell her that her fear had been impossibly close to being reality? "I really am glad you're back. It wasn't the same without you."

"So I have been told," he replied evenly, and she smiled.

This brought his number of allies aboard the _Enterprise_ to a grand total of two: Jim and Nyota. While no one had been as openly hostile as the doctor had been, wherever he went he was met with curious, prying, and even accusing glances from the crew. From what he had been able to glean from Uhura, the captain had apparently not been himself in Spock's absence, either, and the crew seemed to have come to a consensus that the blame for Jim's distress lay at Spock's feet, which he could not argue against.

And then there were the nightmares. They were not disruptive, per say, but they were somewhat distressing, particularly because he was helpless to stop them in spite of his many attempts to do so. He lamented briefly having ever used the sleeping aides that he was quite sure were now causing his unpleasant dreams (or rather, his withdrawal from them was the culprit). But Vulcans were not prone to dwelling on that which could not be helped, so he did what he could to deal with the situation at hand.

All these reflections ran through Spock's mind as he readied himself for the day and began to head to Sickbay to review the results of his physical. It would be the first time he encountered the doctor since their unpleasant reunion, and he was not hopeful that Jim's kindness had softened McCoy's harsh perception of him.

It had been a full week since his return to the _Enterprise_. A small part of him illogically hoped that this week would be better than the last. But unless Dr. McCoy suddenly stopped hating him, the crew suddenly stopped glaring at him, and his nightmares stopped plaguing him, he seriously doubted it would be so.

* * *

Spock stepped into Sickbay at 0642, exactly three minutes early for his scheduled appointment. Nurse Chapel caught sight of him as the doors swished shut behind him and she called out,

"Over here, Mr. Spock." She did not look directly at him as she ushered him into a private examination room. "Dr. McCoy will be here in just a moment."

"Thank you," Spock replied stiffly as she hurried out of the room, leaving him alone to wait. He sat silently and motionlessly for six minutes and forty-one seconds until finally the door swished open and Dr. McCoy stepped inside, PADD in hand.

"Spock," he said dryly in acknowledgment, sitting down across from the Vulcan.

"Good morning, Doctor," he replied evenly – even if McCoy could not treat him civilly, Spock would not reciprocate his hostility.

"The results are all back from your physical," McCoy said without preamble, "They've all been matched up to your medical file from your last physical, about thirteen months ago. There are only a few discrepancies worth mentioning, but overall you've got a clean bill of health and are clear for all duty." Spock ignored the obvious bitterness in that comment and inquired,

"What are the discrepancies?"

"The major one is that you are sixteen pounds and three ounces lighter than your last physical," McCoy said. "You're getting close to unsafely underweight levels. I take it you didn't eat much while you were away. Guilt got to your stomach?" Spock met his gaze unflinchingly and did not respond. He was above the petty squabbles the doctor was attempting to instigate, he told himself. It was not McCoy's approval he desired.

"Guess so," McCoy continued after their brief, unsettling silence. "I also saw that there were noticeable traces of benzodiazepine in your blood. A sleeping aid particularly effective in Vulcans, if I recall correctly. I don't blame you – I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if I were you, either." Spock clamped down on his festering irritation and resentment, forcing his features to remain coolly indifferent.

"Is there anything else I need to know?" Spock asked. McCoy studied him for a moment, lips pressed together in a barely-restrained frown.

"No," he replied curtly. "Only that I'll be adjusting your diet card to help you regain the weight you've lost."

"Then seeing as you have cleared me for duty and you have nothing further of which to inform me, I will be leaving." Spock stood and McCoy stood as well, watching him with a near-predatory expression that Spock ignored. "Goodbye, Doctor," he said as he stepped towards the door. There was no response, but he could feel the doctor's gaze prickling on the back of his neck as he stepped out of the room.

Spock took a steady, calming breath as he paused outside the door, ignoring the glances and stares from the nurses in Sickbay, then he strode quickly and purposefully out into the hallway towards the turbolift.

In the turbolift he closed his eyes and leaned his head back slightly. He had not had a nightmare that night. He had chess with Jim in the evening to look forward to. He focused on these pleasing things in his life – he would not allow himself to dwell on the doctor's scathing remarks.

The turbolift deposited him on the bridge seconds later. As the doors swished closed behind him, Uhura smiled at him from her station, and as he strode past the command chair to take his seat at the science panel, Jim grinned his trademark smile and said brightly,

"Good morning, Mr. Spock."

"Captain," Spock acknowledged with a nod. He felt the younger man's gaze linger on him for a moment as he glanced over the data on the screens before him, and then Jim turned his attention elsewhere and things were in full swing for Alpha shift on the bridge.

* * *

After dinner they met in Jim's room, where the 3D chess board was already set up. Jim grinned at Spock over a bottle of beer as the Vulcan stepped into his quarters, and he asked him if he wanted a drink, which he politely declined, then they launched immediately into a game.

When Spock had first discovered Jim's affinity for chess three weeks and two days into their five-year mission, he had been nothing short of shocked – Jim was still a stubborn, loud-mouthed and disrespectful youth in Spock's eyes back then – and was even more flabbergasted when the young captain proceeded to win three games out of five the first time they had played together. They had found themselves to be of roughly equal caliber and so their evening chess games became nearly habitual. It was through those chess games that they had first really learned to enjoy each other's company and so Spock was quietly thankful that Jim was eager to reestablish their pastime almost immediately.

They played the first game silently and Spock won. Halfway through their second game – already Spock was winning – Jim asked,

"How did your appointment with Bones go this morning?"

"I am healthy and fit for duty," Spock replied simply, forcing down the memory of the anger and humiliation the doctor's snide comments had elicited in him. Jim glanced at him through the platforms of the board and smiled weakly.

"That's good," he said, then after a brief pause he added nervously, "He hasn't been talking to me much lately. I think he's mad."

"He does appear to be particularly troubled by my presence," Spock said carefully, seeing no need to inform Jim of the doctor's hostility. Jim sighed, staring first at the board, then apologetically at Spock.

"Well, he'll get over it," he murmured, more to himself than to the Vulcan sitting across from him.

Jim won that game. Spock stood to get a glass of water as Jim began to reset the board, but when he returned to his seat, the younger man was staring pensively at the half-empty board with a white rook and a white bishop clenched in his hand.

"Are you well?" Spock asked, unsure what was causing his apparent distraction. Jim blinked and gave a tiny jolt as if startled, then, without missing a beat, gazed intently at Spock and said vehemently,

"Will you go on a date with me?"

This took Spock by surprise and for a moment he stared stupidly at Jim, who was beginning to blush, taking his lack of a response as a bad sign, and he fumbled with the pieces in his hands in embarrassment.

"I just thought," he struggled lamely. "I thought, you know, a date would be the proper way to go about it, getting you to – to love me."

"I understand," Spock replied hesitantly, still unsure if he could formulate a coherent response. "However, I am uncertain how or when we will have the opportunity to go on a standard Human 'date'."

"In two weeks we're stopping at Wrigley's Pleasure Planet to load some cargo," Jim said earnestly – this was obviously premeditated. "It's just a delivery job but Starfleet's giving us two days there because apparently this planet isn't exactly known for their punctuality."

"And you suggest we 'go on a date' at some point during those two days," Spock said, easily catching on to Jim's plan. He nodded fervently with a faint grin and elaborated,

"We could get dinner and maybe see a holo movie, they've got some nice theaters. There's an old fashioned Terran opera house, too, or some stuff native to the planet, I've heard they've got beautiful outdoor gardens..." He trailed off at Spock's lack of response and concluded lamely, "Or, you know. We could just stick to the good old wine-and-dine if you'd prefer."

"Captain, you are perfectly aware that Vulcans do not partake in the consumption of alcoholic drinks, including wine," Spock quipped, and Jim frowned, looking absolutely crestfallen.

"If you don't want to then just say so..." he mumbled, looking away and blushing bright pink.

For a moment Spock studied him silently – studied his flustered expression and bright blue eyes darting about the room – and reflected that for all the reasons Jim should hate him, he didn't. On the contrary, he was one of the only individuals aboard the _Enterprise_ who treated him like a decent living being anymore.

Maybe he really did love him after all. It was a hypothesis worth pursuing.

"I would find it acceptable to 'go on a date' with you," Spock finally replied, then added, "Jim."

Jim grinned broadly, joyfully at him, all traces of his disappointment and embarrassment gone, and Spock felt his heart flutter.

"I'll plan everything," Jim enthused, gesturing about wildly with his hands. "I'll figure something out, something awesome. Trust me, Spock, it'll be great."

"I trust you," Spock replied placidly in spite of the amusement bubbling in the back of his thoughts like a spring gushing forth from where there had once been only desert sands. He wondered how it was that Jim made him _feel_, so much more than anyone or anything else. He felt less Vulcan and more Human around Jim – but he felt no shame in the distinction the way he would have with anyone else. He did not know how Jim managed to do it, but he found it to be... pleasing.

They played two more games of chess – Spock won both games, as Jim seemed to be particularly distracted. It was seventeen minutes past midnight when Jim leaned back in his chair and groaned,

"Okay, I'm done. I'm tired."

"Then I will retire as well," Spock replied, beginning to stand. "I did not experience a nightmare last night, so I do not believe I will require your presence."

"Wait!" Jim said quickly, standing as well. "You could – sleep in here if you want." Spock raised an eyebrow and was about to say that that would be unnecessary, but Jim looked at him with such a pleading expression that there was a ninety-three percent chance that if he were to refuse, he would, in human vernacular, "hurt his feelings". He had no desire to do any such thing, so he inclined his head very slightly and replied,

"I will do so." Jim grinned and scrambled to his feet, hurrying over to his wardrobe as he said quickly,

"I'm sure I've got a set of pajamas that'll fit you, let me look, hold on."

He procured a pair of black sweatpants and a white long-sleeved shirt. Spock changed quickly into them as Jim donned his own sleepwear, feeling suddenly and inexplicably self-conscious in the younger man's presence. The pants and shirt were a bit baggy on him – whether it was because of the weight he had lost or because Jim had simply always been broader and bulkier than him, he did not know. He sat down uncertainly on the edge of Jim's bed until the younger man joined him by jumping onto the mattress with a broad, childlike smile, wearing only a pair of gray gym shorts.

"Bedtime," he said, rolling away to allow Spock more room. "Come on. I won't seduce you, promise. Unless you'd like me to, of course."

The thought of "Jim" and "sex" together caused Spock's stomach to roil, bringing with it a whole slew of unpleasant memories, but he would not remind Jim of that. Instead he pulled the blankets up around themselves and replied,

"I do not believe that I wish you to do so."

"Damn," Jim chuckled good-naturedly, then he suddenly looked startled and he asked, "Oh, hey – will you need another blanket? Is it too cold?"

"The temperature is acceptable. I will not require another blanket," he replied, closing his eyes.

"Lights to ten percent," Jim murmured next to him, and the lights dimmed as he shifted to get comfortable. His body curled toward Spock's and they were eye level with their heads on opposite ends of the same pillow, though Spock's eyes were closed.

"I really do love you, you know," Jim whispered. "I'll prove it to you. Just you watch." Spock opened his eyes to glance briefly at him – it was peculiar to look at him this close because Jim could see Spock's inner eyelid shift and follow just a bit behind his outer eyelid. It served as a reminder of how very different they were – how they were not the same at the most basic level. But it was not a turn off; rather, Jim found their differences to be exotic and maybe a little bit beautiful.

"I look forward to it," Spock replied simply, softly, and Jim smiled as they both began drifting off into sleep.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! Chapter two will be up next Saturday :)


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Welcome back! Thanks to everyone who reviewed. :)

Not much else to say here, haha. Except that you might notice that I'm trying to get more minor character involvement in this fic than there was in Ninety-Nine, so hopefully that works out alright. xD

As always, comments and critiques are welcomed! Please enjoy. :)

* * *

Chapter Two

"_Life is relationships; the rest is just details._" -Gary Smalley

* * *

It ended up being a good thing that they remained together, because Spock had another nightmare.

Spock did not dream of watching himself assault Jim in the throes of plak-tow, as he had dreamt the day after his return to the _Enterprise_. He did not dream either of watching his home planet crumble and disintegrate around him as he lunged a hand out for his mother, too late to save her.

He dreamt of T'Lyra.

He could not remember the specifics of the dream, though he had a few solid theories, but when Jim shook him awake he could hear the remnants of his own guttural cries reverberating off the walls and for a moment he lay there paralyzed with anguish and he gasped out,

"T'Lyra – T'Lyra...!" He stumbled to his feet, away from Jim's worried gaze, and he buried his face in his hands. His face felt hot and damp and he knew he must have been crying in his sleep, and he fought to regain control over his trembling body and unruly emotions floundering in his chest. After a moment he was aware of a tentative hand on his shoulder and Jim's voice murmuring gently behind him,

"It's okay, come on, it's all right. Let's just go back to sleep – it was just a bad dream, see? You're okay, Spock, you're okay..."

Spock sat down heavily on the edge of the bed but could not bring himself to lie back down. Jim, propped up on his pillows on the other end, peered worriedly at him then asked hesitantly,

"Why do you think you keep having nightmares? Do you know?"

"While I was on New Vulcan," Spock replied slowly, voice still unsteady. "I was taking sleeping aides on a regular basis. It was a mildly addictive chemical so the nightmares may be a withdrawal symptom. Or... the chemicals have been suppressing my dreams, and I have been having nightmares all along – and only now am being made aware of it. Both are... likely causes." They sat in silence for seven seconds before Jim asked tentatively,

"Who is T'Lyra?"

The sound of her name shattered Spock's tenuous control and a sob broke through his lips – he clamped a hand to his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, struggling against his more-than-slightly humiliating breakdown. Jim's hand moved in small gentle circles on his shoulder and he focused on the light contact, forcing his breathing to steady and coaxing himself into his standard stoic frame of mind.

"Sorry," Jim murmured apologetically, the guilt heavy in his voice. "I'm sorry. Forget I asked, it's okay."

"Someday," Spock said faintly, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. "Someday I will tell you, when the memories are not so – fresh. Not now, but someday."

"It's okay," came the soft reply. "We all have secrets, things we don't want to talk about. You don't have to tell me. It's okay."

After two minutes and seven seconds of silence, Spock laid back down, Jim already beginning to doze off beside him. He knew he could not fall back asleep but he knew also meditation would be futile – his mind was buzzing about frantically with thoughts, with memories, of that soft youthful face branded into his heart.

Jim deserved to know, Spock told himself. He had to tell him eventually – _she_ had become far too large a part of him to keep it to himself. But for now Jim was content to wait – and so Spock would wait. Maybe someday he would be able to talk about the little girl who had captured his heart without wanting to curl up and die.

* * *

Spock was particularly quiet in the morning, but Jim didn't push him and was courteously quiet too, letting the Vulcan mull over his thoughts – because, after all, Jim had some thinking of his own to do.

They grabbed a small, quick breakfast in the officer's mess hall, Spock picking at a plate of assorted fruit as Jim busied himself with a bowl of cereal. They ate in silence, then as they were beginning to leave Jim caught sight of Scotty sitting down on the other side of the room and he stopped short.

"Go on without me," he said quickly to Spock. "I need to talk to Scotty real fast." Spock raised an eyebrow curiously, but complied to Jim's request, murmuring,

"I will see you on the bridge." Jim waved him goodbye, then hurried over to the Scotsman who was, thankfully, sitting alone at a small table.

"Scotty!" Jim said jovially to him. "Mind if I sit here? I've got something I need to ask you, if you don't mind." Scotty looked quizzically at him, his mouth full of eggs and sausage, but he gestured for the younger man to sit down across from him.

"What d'ye need, Cap'n?" he asked as he stabbed another sausage with his fork.

"Well," Jim said a bit hesitantly. "You've been to Wrigley's Pleasure Planet a couple times, right?"

"Oh, sure. Once spent a month or so there. They cannae be bothered to keep their machines in workin' order, ye know, the natives are all so busy in their little hedonistic pursuits an' all. Spent a while down there as a mechanic in me early Starfleet years, a lovely little planet she is."

"So you know all the best places to go, right? Good places to, you know, take someone on a date?" A slow smile spread across Scotty's face and he set down his silverware to rest his chin against one hand with a coy expression.

"Well, I think ye'll have to be tellin' me the name of the lucky lass if ye want me to impart some o' me knowledge, Cap'n," he replied teasingly and Jim grinned sheepishly, but gave the older man a look that told him in no uncertain terms that his mouth would remain firmly shut. Scotty sighed and leaned back in his chair, still grinning.

"Well, there're a lot o' nice places," he said matter-of-factly. "It all depends on what your date likes."

"Let's say it's a down-to-earth kind of person," Jim replied carefully. "Pretty no-nonsense most of the time, but still knows how to relax when time allows. So I'm thinking something that's not frivolous or over-the-top, but still, you know, meaningful. Memorable."

"First date?"

"Er, yeah."

"Sounds like ye've got a high-maintenance lady on your hands," Scotty chuckled. "Well, let's see. If she's down-to-earth you'll wanna stick to a nice dinner. Probably not a movie, too overdone. They've got some pretty fancy botanical gardens in a couple places, some nice museums too – "

"A museum," Jim breathed, eyes lighting up, and he exclaimed, "A museum! That's perfect, Scotty, you have no idea how perfect that is."

"She got a love o' learnin' to her, eh?" Scotty laughed, and Jim grinned – the irony was positively killing him.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "I think that's what I'll do. Know what the best museums are?"

"Oh, I'm not sure. I'd guess a quick search on the 'net will bring up somethin' to yer likin', though."

"Okay. Man, thanks, Scotty, you're a lifesaver!" Jim enthused, standing up to go.

"Glad I could be o' assistance," Scotty replied with a grin. Jim left after a few more parting words, then Scotty turned back to his breakfast, which had turned cold. He glanced at the clock on the wall and swore – ten minutes before Alpha shift started.

"Blasted boy an' his datin' problems," he grumbled to himself as he shoveled down the rest of his eggs. "Why is it me who's always gotta solve the problems? Ach, I'm no miracle-worker!"

* * *

In the evening Uhura was sitting curled up next to Scotty on the sofa of the officer's rec room, skimming through text on her PADD as he talked about the latest side project going on down in engineering, something involving manipulating the replicators into creating Romulan ale.

"Oh!" he said suddenly. "Ye'll never believe what happened at breakfast!"

"What?" Uhura asked with a slight chuckle, glancing up at him fondly.

"Well," he said seriously, looking around as if checking for eavesdroppers. "I had just sat down to eat when none other'n the Cap'n hisself comes along an' asks me about the best places on Wrigley's to go on a _date_!"

"Really!" Uhura exclaimed with a grin. "Uh oh. Did he say with who?"

"Ach, he was bein' all secretive-like about names," he replied, rolling his eyes. "But from what he did say, sounds like he's got quite a girl on his hands."

"What did he say?"

"Said she was no-nonsense, wouldn't like a frivolous date. I'm bettin' it's a girl in Science – he seemed to jump on the idea of goin' to a museum."

For a moment Uhura was silent, obviously pondering – then a slow smile spread across her features as understanding suddenly washed over her.

"I think I might know who it is," she said, clapping a hand to her mouth. "Oh, goodness – he wouldn't!"

"Tell me, tell me!" Scotty replied enthusiastically. "Lass, ye've got to tell me!" She shook her head, still grinning.

"Oh, I don't want to say, if I'm wrong it'll be horrible," she said, biting her lip as he shot her his best puppy dog eyes. "But if I'm right – oh my god, Monty, you will seriously _never_ even see it coming."

Uhura couldn't stop grinning even as he continued to plead with her. She had quite an interesting conversation with one Mr. Spock to plan.

* * *

After Alpha shift, Jim skipped dinner and hurried back to his quarters. He sat down heavily at his desk and grabbed his PADD – his personal one, not the Starfleet regulation one that kept track of everything he did. He liked his privacy, thank you very much.

A quick search of Wrigley's major city brought up several potential candidates. Two art museums, one museum of space travel, one museum on the history of the planet, another art museum, a natural history museum – it all seemed like too much. Jim was inclined to choose the space travel museum, but he closed his eyes and pretended he was Spock for a moment, trying to decide which would be most appealing to the Vulcan. But pretending to be a Vulcan proved to be a fruitless effort, and with a grumble and a grown he did a bit more research into each museum.

The history of Wrigley's Pleasure Planet was not particularly interesting, so he crossed that one off the list. The space travel one would be cool, but Spock probably already knew everything there was to know on the subject, so that one got a "no", too.

He looked at the three art museums and the natural history museum. The natural history one was the newest and also the smallest, and a bit out of the way, so he decided against it.

He hoped Spock liked art, because it looked like an art museum would be the winner here. Jim wasn't much of an art connoisseur, but the museum boasting to have pieces from nearly ever Federation planet and a few non-Federation ones seemed like it would appeal to Spock more than the others – Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations and all that Vulcan stuff. Plus a restaurant in walking distance had what appeared to be an excellent vegetarian menu, which was something of a necessity for Spock.

Perfect. Jim checked the days they would be orbiting the planet on the mission statement on his other PADD, then made the dinner reservation for the evening of the first day.

He set aside his PADD with a smile. It was going to be a perfect date, he was sure. All he had left to do was wait.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! Chapter three will be up next Saturday.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Oh my goodness, you guys, I am SO sorry for getting this chapter up so late! Dx It's still Saturday where I live but it's really late. I'm so sorry! I've been super busy all day and never had a chance to put this up. Sorry again!

**warnings:** this chapter has more heavy language than usual.

As always, comments and critiques are welcomed! Please enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Three

"_Anger is a killing thing: it kills the man who angers, for each rage leaves him less than he had been before - it takes something from him._" -Louis L'Amour

* * *

Jim's good mood proved to be short-lived.

He went to grab dinner on the late side, and when he walked into the officer's mess it was nearly deserted – save for the lone figure of McCoy sitting in the corner, eating his meal quietly.

Their eyes locked when Jim entered to room, but McCoy looked quickly away, back down to his food – Jim stood in the doorway staring at him for an uncomfortable moment before coming to his senses. He replicated his meal quickly, hesitated a moment – then walked resolutely over to McCoy and sat down across from him.

"Hi," he said brightly. McCoy did not look at the younger man as he mumbled in reply,

"Hey."

"How've you been?" Jim continued, starting on his meal. McCoy did not respond right away, glancing briefly at Jim then back to his own meal, and he mumbled,

"Fine."

"Yeah? That's good. We haven't talked in a while."

"I've been busy," McCoy replied curtly. For a moment Jim was hesitantly silent, then he asked,

"Are you mad at me?"

"Me? Mad?" he spat bitterly. "Why the hell would I be mad about my best friend suddenly deciding it's a great idea to just up and invite the guy who nearly destroyed his life back onto the ship, into his _bed_ for all I know. I'm not _mad_." He threw down the silverware he had been holding, his face reddening with his tirade. "I'm not mad – I'm fucking _disgusted_, I'm _furious_!"

"Is this seriously what this is about?" Jim demanded heatedly, resentment and indignation and shock and disappointment and every other horrible emotion he had ever felt suddenly erupting in him. "You're seriously ignoring me because of – because of _Spock_?"

"You may be head over heels for that sonofabitch but I sure as hell ain't," McCoy snarled. "Maybe you forgot, but he kind of, I don't know, _raped_ you then jumped ship because he was too chicken shit to face – "

"Are you serious – oh my fucking _god_," Jim exclaimed. "Maybe _you_ forgot about this Vulcan thing called Pon Farr – it wasn't _him_, Bones, he wasn't in his right mind when it happened and it's half my fault it happened in the first place, we've been over this same fucking thing a _million_ times – and he left the ship because I _told_ him to – because I was hurt and terrified and _stupid_, okay? Because he was guilty and ashamed and couldn't stay."

"None of that makes a shred of difference," McCoy snapped. "I was the one who had to pick up the pieces of what he left behind and I'm not gonna forget that. He nearly killed you in every possible way – and I will _never_ forgive him for what he did to you."

They glared at each other for a moment, rage scrawled across both sets of features, until finally Jim stood, meal forgotten, and muttered darkly,

"I can't believe you. I can't deal with this." He took a step towards the door, paused, and added bitterly, "You said you wanted to see me happy again. Well, I _am_ happy – but you're not. I guess that you only wanted that happiness to be with _you_, you sick greedy bastard."

"Fuck you, you piece of shit," McCoy snapped. "Don't come crying to me when he tears you apart at the seams again."

Jim walked out the door. Enough was enough.

McCoy glared at the door for a moment after he had left, then furiously threw the food-laden plate across the table at it – it hit the wall and the plate didn't break but made a satisfying crash as its contents splayed across the wall and the floor. He glared at the mess he had made for a moment longer, then stomped out into the hallway while paging Maintenance to clean up the officer's mess hall.

* * *

The moment Jim stepped back into his quarters he kicked off his boots, sending them soaring across the floor to land noisily across from his closet. He paced about the room restlessly, angrily, before swinging his fist into the unrelenting wall with a growl that gave way to a shout of,

"Goddamn selfish lying asshole, I can't even believe him, jesus christ...!" He stood there panting for a long moment, his knuckles throbbing in painful protest as he took another swing at the wall, then another and another, then finally, slowly, leaned forward to rest his forehead on his fist, eyes closed as he sighed in defeat.

There was a brief silence as he stood there, his breathing coming in short heavy bursts, then a hesitant voice came from his bathroom door,

"May I come in?"

Spock. For a moment Jim wanted to be angry at him, too – but he couldn't bring himself to hold something against Spock that he had no control over. He took a deep, calming breath but remained against the wall as he called out,

"Yeah, come in."

The door slid open quietly and Jim listened to the soft noise of Spock's footsteps as the Vulcan approached him carefully.

"Something has occurred," he said, a statement rather than a question.

"It's nothing, I just..." Jim began, then trailed off. "I... I had a fight with Bones."

"A physical altercation?" Spock's voice took on an alarmed undertone and Jim shook his head wearily; the movement caused his hand to ache mercilessly, but he could not bring himself to move to a more comfortable position.

"No, just... Just a shouting match." He gave a bitter chuckle and carefully lowered his bruised hand while lifting the other to scrub at his hair, his back still turned to Spock.

"May I inquire as to the nature of your disagreement?" came Spock's voice again. Slowly Jim turned to face him, wearily noting the muted concern on the Vulcan's face.

"He doesn't like that you're here," Jim replied bluntly. "He's mad that you're here and mad that I let you be." Spock was silent for a moment, steadily meeting his gaze, then he replied slowly with a slight quirk of an eyebrow,

"Curious that he has expressed anger towards you, as all the anger he has expressed towards me has been in your defense. Most peculiar."

"Yeah, well," Jim sighed. "Illogical Human stupidity at its finest, I guess." A pause. "I just... I don't understand him, I can't believe he'd be acting like this – god, Spock, he's supposed to be my _friend_, he's always been the closest friend I've ever had, I don't think I've ever felt so – so – " He struggled for words, his face contorting in his concentration. "So betrayed, so _hurt_, in my entire life – he should understand, he's supposed to understand better than anyone, but..." He trailed off miserably, looking away in frustration. Spock nodded slowly, pensively, before replying,

"I have a suggestion. I cannot advise you on how to handle Dr. McCoy, but I believe I can be of assistance in remaining calm and collected."

"I'm listening," Jim murmured.

"While the Human mind is not capable of the depth of meditation Vulcans require, using Vulcan meditation techniques are known to relieve stress for Humans," Spock said evenly. "Come to my quarters and I will show you." Jim sighed heavily, deeply. He had paperwork he needed to catch up on – but he knew he wouldn't get it done anyway, not with all the jumbled thoughts and hurt feelings puttering about his mind.

"Okay," he agreed, and he followed Spock through their connected bathroom into the Vulcan's quarters.

Every time Jim was in Spock's quarters he expected to start feeling panicky or uneasy – but he never did, and on the contrary always felt comfortably at home, if a little warm and sweaty, in the other man's living space. He was glad, at least, for that.

Spock's meditation mat was already on the floor and when Jim smelled the burning incense filling the room he guiltily realized he must have interrupted Spock from his own meditation. Way to go, jerk, he bitterly told himself, looking down at his feet as Spock laid out a blanket as an impromtu meditation mat for him to sit on.

"Sit," Spock said, and Jim lowered himself onto the floor, imitating Spock's cross-legged stance with his hands folded loosely in his lap.

"Focus on your breathing," Spock continued slowly, softly, sending a shiver down Jim's spine. "You should be aware of nothing but your breathing and your heartbeat." For a moment they were silent until Spock began again, his voice even softer now, "When you have reached this focused state, allow your mind to wander briefly. Every thought, every feeling it brings up – push it away. Allow it to depart from you. Find it, and then release it, until you are empty. Imagine you are looking at a flame of a candle. Feed your thoughts and emotions into that flame. Or that you are looking into the night sky, and everything you let go goes to be a star in that sky. Allow yourself to become nothing and everything, to transcend yourself, and you will find tranquility and balance."

At that, Spock fell silent and Jim tried to do as he instructed. It was not an easy feat with his mind buzzing about frantically, but he tried to let the thoughts go. It took a while and some conscious effort, but finally it seemed like his mind was calming down. He focused on the scent of Vulcan incense, heady and bittersweet and familiar because Spock always smelled of it. He focused on the deep even sound of Spock breathing across from him, realized they were breathing in harmony with one another.

He had no idea how long they sat there until he felt as though his mind was finally empty, until he stopped feeling the texture of the blanket he was sitting on, stopped feeling the warm air in the room, stopped feeling and simply _was_.

Time had no meaning in this sudden emptiness that he floated in. There was no time and there was no Jim or Spock or McCoy or _Enterprise_ – simply silence and pure existence that he quietly, peacefully slipped into.

When he finally opened his eyes again, the lights had dimmed and he looked around groggily as though he had woken from a deep sleep. Spock sat tranquilly across from him, features free and easy, deep in meditation still.

Jim felt... calm. At ease. The thought of McCoy did not anger him now – only brought on a simple acceptance and a resolve to wait and work things out.

He didn't want to disturb Spock so he got up as silently as he could, padded over to Spock's bed and lay down gently. He was still in his uniform but that was okay, he had slept in his uniform plenty of times before. He curled up under the sheets, breathing in Spock's familiar, cherished scent that filled the room but was particularly strong and comforting combined with the faint hint of clean linen, and, in his relaxed, drowsy state, he fell easily into slumber.

When Spock came out of meditation, Jim was no longer sitting across from him – but he could clearly hear the Human breathing deeply from the other side of the room. In his bed. He stood and put away his meditation mat and the incense and tidied up a bit before changing into his nightclothes. It was 0157 and he was working Alpha shift tomorrow as per usual, but he could not bring himself to join Jim in bed right away.

For four minutes and twenty-one seconds he stood and studied the sleeping form in his sheets. The captain's features were relaxed in his sleep, betraying his youth that was often hidden in his waking hours. Spock studied his golden eyelashes, the strong set of his jaw, the faint scar next to his mouth that he had long been curious about but had never inquired after. He studied the golden creature before him and wondered what he had done to allow this to happen. From Spock's perspective, Jim should have considered him a monster, lower than the scum of his boots – but he did not. He said he loved him, and Spock did not know why.

He longed to reach over and press a finger to Jim's lips – a kiss in both cultures. But even as he flexed his hand, the desperate longing turned to fear and anxiety as images – no, memories – of Jim sobbing and wounded beneath him as the haze of plak-tow lifted – and it paralyzed him. He could not do it. He didn't think he ever would be able to.

Quietly Spock slipped into the empty space next to Jim – the beds were really not big enough for two people, but they managed. He lay a careful distance from the sleeping man and, wondering if Jim really could love him, fell asleep as well.

* * *

McCoy was sitting in his quarters, slumped in his chair as he nursed a bourbon and water. The remnants of his previous fury still simmered unpleasantly in his chest as he stared, unfocused, at the blank wall across from him. His door chimed. He called out,

"Come in."

Christine Chapel stepped into the room, out of uniform as he was, and raised a quizzical eyebrow at the liquor on his table but said in a brisk, no-nonsense tone,

"I just wanted to let you know that we've finally gotten the shipments of gauze and things you sent in for. M'Benga signed off for them and the Beta shift nurses are sorting through everything now."

"Good," McCoy sighed. "They sure took their damn time with it, too. I sent in those orders three weeks ago – started to think I'd have to replicate popsicle sticks for tongue depressors." The tirade was delivered in an uncharacteristic weary, distracted tone, and Chapel frowned slightly and took a step closer to him.

"Everything all right, Leonard?" she asked, transitioning easily from professional to casual conversation. "To be honest, you look like hell." The older man grimaced at the words.

"Long story," he muttered in reply. She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips, obviously dissatisfied with so obscure an answer.

"I've been told I'm a good listener," she said primly, and without any hesitation she sat down next to him. "Talk to me, Leonard, I haven't seen you this stressed in a long time." He glanced warily at her, uncertain and hesitant, until finally he said bitterly,

"I just got in a fight with someone, that's all."

"The captain?" she pressed. McCoy winced.

"That obvious, huh?" he sighed.

"We all know he's the only person you care enough about to get this worked up over," Chapel replied with a stifled chuckle. "What happened?"

For a long while McCoy was silent. How could he tell her how badly he'd been hurt by Jim choosing Spock over him – how keenly he felt the sting of betrayal, how _used_ he felt for having so diligently cared for his friend, only to be spurned, cast away in preference of the man – the _thing_ – that had wounded the young captain in the first place? How could she understand?

"It's like this," he grumbled finally. "I just – I don't like Spock, and Jim doesn't like that I don't like Spock."

"Mr. Spock?" Chapel repeated, surprised – whatever she had been anticipating, this had not been it. "But why – I mean, I understand the crew having trepidations about him coming back all of a sudden, but – why are you so upset with him?" McCoy was about to snap back that that wasn't what he had said, he wasn't _upset_, but decided better of it. If Christine Chapel was good at anything, it was understanding people, reading between the lines to uncover the truth, and he knew that.

It would not be an easy thing to explain. Really, doctor-patient confidentiality kept him from saying anything – but he couldn't bring himself to give a damn about technicalities, and Chapel was a professional, too, dammit. He knew if he told everything to her that Jim would never forgive him, much less Spock – but, hell, the captain deserved to feel the same burn of betrayal the doctor had suffered when Jim had taken all the support and friendship he had so freely given, then thrown it in his face and ran back to the cause of all his heartache like some stupid, lovesick domestic abuse victim. He deserved a taste of the bitter drought he had given McCoy.

That settled it.

McCoy leaned forward in his seat, eying Chapel speculatively, then began, "What do you know about the Vulcan mating drive?"

* * *

**A/N: **Uh oh! Bad place to leave off? Sorry! ;) Next chapter will be up next Saturday!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Oh god you guys, I am SO sorry this chapter is late too... Dx I just started working (!) earlier in the week and I've been kind of overwhelmed with that and didn't realize Saturday means updating, not just sleeping in, until just now. Again, I am **so** sorry.

To be honest, guys, I'm not sure if this weekly-updating thing is working well for me. I'll stick with it for now but I may or may not have to put this on about a month-long hiatus just because doing updates while writing is a bit difficult for me. Again, I'm sorry. I feel horrible about this. D8 Updates for this are just harder for me than they were for 99 because I was doing 99 over the summer, and now I have classes and I started working which leaves me less time than I'd like to be working on this. :( But I'm going to try and stick to the weekly updates and still finish this story as soon as I can! Because I love all of you very much. 3

**warnings:** this chapter has some heavy language, like the last.

Anyways, as always, comments _and_ critiques are welcomed! Please enjoy, and thanks for reading.

* * *

Chapter Four

"_We call that person who has lost his father, an orphan; and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him? Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence._" - Joseph Roux

* * *

The next day began normally for Nyota Uhura. She woke at her usual time, showered, dressed, and headed down to the officer's mess for breakfast. Monty had some diagnostics test he had to run in the bowels of the ship that had started several hours previous, so she began her morning meal in peaceful solitude.

Halfway through her plate of apple pancakes, Christine Chapel sat down across from her. Uhura smiled at her friend – and was surprised to be answered with a flustered, almost wild expression on the other woman's face.

"Oh my god, Nyota," she said quickly, quietly, scanning the room furtively for eavesdroppers. "You're not going to believe what Leonard told me."

When Chapel had relayed the information, Uhura stared at her, open mouthed and eyes bulging.

"Oh my god, Christine," she breathed faintly. "You can't tell _anyone_ about this, okay?"

"I know, trust me," the other woman replied. "I know, I just – you're still close to Spock, I thought you could, I don't know, talk to him, figure out if that's the truth – not that I don't trust Leonard, but it's all just so – just so _unbelievable_, you know?"

"Okay," Uhura said, taking a steadying breath. "Yeah, okay. I'll talk to him."

* * *

It had been another unpleasant day in a line of unpleasant days for Spock. He had woken from a nightmare in the morning. Jim had been particularly quiet and subdued for the majority of the day, which unnerved him. He had encountered Dr. McCoy in the mess hall during lunch, and though the doctor had not even so much as acknowledged his existence, it had brought on a slew of unhappy thoughts and a pang of sadness not for himself but for Jim.

At the end of Alpha shift, which had been thankfully uneventful, Uhura approached him.

"Hey," she said. "I've got a few things I want to talk to you about, if that's alright." Spock raised an eyebrow. The question itself was innocent enough, but Uhura regarded him without her usual warmth, the normal smile she gave him distinctly absent. He did not know what that meant, and it unsettled him. Which was illogical, of course, and he pushed the thought away and replied,

"Of course. Where do you wish to conduct the conversation?"

"Well, it's a bit, um, private, so. My quarters?"

"That is acceptable." As they left the bridge and entered the turbolift, Spock wondered what she wished to discuss with him – he was quite unsure – but then decided it was a waste of effort to speculate and stamped the thought out.

"Let's sit," Uhura said as they entered her quarters, which were to Spock slightly familiar but subtly different from the last time he had been in her rooms – when they had terminated their romantic relationship, which seemed impossibly long ago.

"What do you wish to discuss?" he asked simply, studying her uneasy features. She shifted in her seat.

"Well," she began. "Christine Chapel told me something this morning – about you." Spock stared stonily back at her.

"Me?" he affirmed, and she nodded, continuing,

"Yes, about you, and – about why you left the _Enterprise_."

Suddenly Spock felt as though his stomach had been twisted about inside him and he replied weakly, "And – what did she have to say?"

Uhura told him what she had heard. Spock could not decide if he wanted to run from the room and vomit up everything he had ever eaten, or curl up in his seat and die.

"Is that true?" Uhura asked faintly when her recounting was through. Spock swallowed anxiously, unable to look at her.

"Nurse Chapel's information is accurate," he said in a near-whisper. He was sure Uhura would be disgusted, repulsed by him, and the thought only exacerbated his own revulsion towards himself. The only logical thing for her to do would be to push him away, to look upon him with the same distaste as the rest of the crew, the same open hatred as McCoy, and he could not blame her.

"Oh Spock," she said, reaching out to touch his arm lightly. "I'm so – I'm so sorry. I wish... If only I had known, I could have... Spock, you know I would have done everything I could have to help. I'm so sorry."

What was she saying? She would have helped him – how? Spock would have killed her, surely he would have killed her, for Jim was so much stronger and resilient than she and he had barely managed to escape, broken and bleeding, in the lull of his sated _plak-tow._ He did not deserve her pity, it was not – logical. Her reaction confused him, adding to the sickening medley of emotions he was already fighting against – and he could not handle it. Abruptly he stood.

"Please," he said faintly. "Please, speak of this to no one."

"Of course," she murmured, and Spock fled the room without another word. His quarters were thankfully nearby and the halls were blessedly clear. He stumbled weakly into his quarters, thoughts roiling madly in his head, his gut.

A wave of familiar nausea claimed him and he ran for the bathroom.

* * *

In the opposite room Jim had been trudging through his pile of paperwork for the past half hour or so and was beginning to consider getting (a very late) dinner soon. He wanted to have all the reports and mundane things done and filed by the time they arrived at Wrigley's Pleasure Planet so his conscience would be clear for his date with Spock – but, damn, he hated paperwork. This was definitely one aspect of captaincy he could live without.

He heard Spock's door slide open from the bathroom and thought nothing of it – until it was followed by the noise of retching and liquid splattering into liquid, and all thoughts of paperwork fled from Jim's mind.

"Spock?" he called, jumping to his feet and hurrying to the bathroom. "Spock, are you okay?" He stepped inside to find Spock vomiting into the toilet and immediately he knelt beside him, putting a hand on the Vulcan's violently trembling shoulder. Spock gave a few more heaves, his muscles clenching under Jim's hand, before finally leaning back heavily with his breath coming in short, sharp pants. Jim reached over and flushed the toilet, glancing worriedly at Spock.

"What's wrong? Are you sick?" he asked, and Spock closed his eyes.

"She knows," he whispered hoarsely, lips trembling. "Nyota, she – knows what happened – why I – why I left the _Enterprise_, she knows..." Realization blossomed painfully in Jim's gut and he felt suddenly like puking, too.

McCoy. It was the only answer, it had to be McCoy. Instantly he was flooded with anger – blinding rage, more fury than he had ever felt in his life – but he forced himself to focus. He stood and helped Spock to his unsteady feet. He got a cup of water that he handed to Spock, who rinsed his mouth with the offering. He got a towel and wiped his mouth and dabbed at the sheen of perspiration coating the Vulcan's face.

"Are you okay? Do you need to lie down?"

"Yes," Spock whispered faintly, and so Jim guided Spock back into his quarters where the Vulcan sat down heavily on the edge of his bed. Jim stood beside him uncertainly and Spock met his gaze and whispered,

"I – I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

Jim wanted to cry – but he did not. He reached out and held Spock, pulled his warm body against his own and Spock clutched desperately at the fabric of his uniform, his face buried in Jim's chest as he repeated his litany of, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

The irony of it all slapped Jim in the face – he had been the one who had been hurt, the one who had been broken and left to clean up, yet he had healed so much faster – Spock's scars ran so much deeper, bled so much easier, and Jim couldn't take it.

"I'm sorry too," he choked, and he bowed his head and wept into Spock's hair, clutching at the older man with the same desperation he clung at him with. They had hurt so much already – why couldn't it stop? Why couldn't they just be happy?

Because of McCoy. They would be happy if it weren't for McCoy. All the love, the respect, the joy Jim had once felt for the doctor – it was all gone, destroyed and ravaged, leaving behind only resentment and hate and blame. Slowly, slowly, Jim pulled away from Spock.

"I have to go," he said feverishly. "I just – I'll be back in a bit, okay? I won't be gone long." Spock nodded silently, not meeting his gaze, and Jim hurried out of the room.

* * *

McCoy had just gotten back from his evening meal and was entertaining the idea of going to bed early for once when he heard the lock on his door click – someone must have overridden the lock and he was not entirely surprised when Jim stormed through the door, rage plastered on his features.

He was, however, caught off-guard when Jim barreled straight to him, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, heaved him out of his seat and all but threw him against the wall.

"You sick bastard!" Jim roared in spite of the mere inches between their faces, spittle flying from his lips and splattering along the doctor's neck and shoulders. "Are you seriously that low? What the fuck were you thinking?"

"Let go of me," McCoy growled, clamping down on his fear and glaring back at Jim's enraged gaze. The captain slammed him against the wall again, teeth gnashing.

"No!" he shouted. "No! You're lucky I don't beat the shit out of you right this second! Who did you tell?"

"I don't have to – " he began defiantly, and Jim swung his fist into McCoy's face, sending his head lolling as his vision burst with stars and pain that disoriented him.

"_Who the fuck did you tell?_" Jim shouted, ignoring the other man's fingers digging into his wrist as he clamped a hand over his throat.

"Chapel," McCoy choked out. "Chapel!" Jim unceremoniously threw him to the ground, where he rolled over defensively, coughing and sputtering.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Jim continued, his features twisted and red with fury. "Are you happy now, you fucking asshole? Spock's miserable, I'm miserable – is that what you wanted? Huh? Because you sure as hell got it!"

"Maybe you know a little of how I feel now," McCoy growled from the floor between coughs. "You betrayed me. I thought I'd return the favor."

"Are you fucking serious? All this because _you're_ not the one getting in my pants?"

"Don't flatter yourself," McCoy snarled, stumbling to his feet. "It's not about that. It was _never_ about that."

"Then whatever it was about – I hope it was worth it," Jim hissed through clenched teeth. "I didn't want to choose between you and Spock – but I guess you've chosen for me. At least Spock had the decency to be sorry for what he did, had the decency to actually _care_ about me – something you're obviously incapable of."

McCoy had no reply to that.

"Get. _Out,_" he said instead, and Jim complied without protest. The door swished shut behind him, quiet and anticlimatic compared to the slamming doors McCoy had grown all too accustomed to hearing after shouting matches, and then he was alone.

* * *

Jim couldn't face Spock, not yet – so he retreated to the safety of his own quarters where he collapsed onto his bed.

His mind still reeled from shock. In less than an hour his whole life, it seemed like, had been thrown asunder and now that his rage had subsided he realized that there was some truth to that. His heart ached suddenly and he was filled with sorrow and confusion and agonizing loss – and, more than anything, a gaping chasm of hurt. McCoy had been his best friend, his support who kept him going when he had wanted to give up, the only person he could wholly and completely trust, could confide in entirely and depend upon always, and now – now, that was gone, Bones was gone, _Bones_ no longer existed, and it hurt more than the burn of betrayal.

Jim buried his face in his pillows and cried. It was the most he could manage to do.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**: Hello everyone! Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter ^^

**warnings:** this chapter is pretty long, l-lol. Also there are discussions of male genitalia and some sexy situations. You've been warned ;]

So as I'm sure most of you know, NaNoWriMo starts on Monday. I will definitely try to stick to the updating schedule (I'm cheating a bit this year and instead of my goal being 50k words, it's to finish writing this fic, haha. Since it's got about 30-40k words left to it if I am guesstimating correctly) but if updates become more erratic than usual, I apologize and can assure you that if they do, they will be back to normal come December. So thanks for your understanding ^^;

As always, comments and critiques are appreciated! Please enjoy.

* * *

Chapter Five

"_It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know that it has begun." _– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

* * *

The next several days passed surprisingly quietly. Perhaps a little too quietly – but at the very least there were no shouting matches or hostile confrontations. There was an uneasy air about the bridge – the Captain had been unusually subdued and the obvious lack of Dr. McCoy's once-frequent visits were equally unsettling. The fact that something unpleasant had happened was nearly tangible in the bridge's atmosphere, but no one knew exactly what – true to their word, Uhura and Chapel had not shared their knowledge with anyone else, though the rumors that the crew had come up with were not much better.

Jim had been filling nearly all his free time in the ship's gym. Whether it was running mile upon mile on the treadmill, swimming laps until he could barely breathe, or sparring round after round with various men from Security – he attacked the activity relentlessly, stopping only when he was too exhausted to think, at which point he would stumble back to his quarters, shower, and collapse drowsily onto his bed, or sometimes Spock's.

He was frustrated, Spock knew, and he was venting it the best way he could. Spock at least understood that.

After the first uncomfortable day or two, Spock only felt curiously quiet and calm; accepting, even. The initial shock had been the worst and now that it was over he found it surprisingly simple to return to his normal equilibrium. He trusted Uhura, and she had never given him reason to doubt that trust before.

"Are you still up for that date?" Jim had asked three days after his fight with Dr. McCoy, his expression dejected and hesitant.

"Yes," Spock had replied, simply, wondering why he had seen a need to even ask.

One morning five days later, Spock woke to find Jim's body curled against his own. He was lying on his side with Jim's shoulders against his collarbone and his groin pressed flush to Jim's backside. He recalled that Humans called this "spooning" and while it generally was meant to serve an erotic purpose, he found it to be quite calming and peaceful in its intimacy. He discovered that he had one arm wrapped around the smaller man's torso, their fingers barely touching, and carefully, drowsily, he used that hand to pull Jim's body closer. Jim shifted slightly with the change and when his hand followed Spock's, he realized the other man was not asleep. They lay this way for a moment before Jim murmured softly,

"You're all I have left, you know. Please... Please don't deny me that." Spock tilted his head to breathe in the smell of Jim's hair, eyes only half-open.

"I will not," he whispered in reply, and Jim tangled their fingers together. It was so peaceful, so tender a moment, that they both nearly drifted back off to sleep before the alarm roused them from their repose.

When they retired for the night later that evening, they settled silently back into the same position, Spock laying one arm protectively across Jim's torso, Jim gladly allowing him to make his claim. It all felt so easy, so natural, that Spock did not think anything of it. He did not have any more nightmares.

The days blurred together this way until they arrived in orbit over Wrigley's Pleasure Planet.

* * *

"Winter clothes?"

"Well – yes, sir. These coordinates are to the region of the planet currently in the winter season." Jim stared at Lieutenant Kyle dumbly until the man added hesitantly, "With snow." Jim groaned.

"Yeah, I know what winter means," he sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Damn. Well... Thanks for telling me now and not when I'm beaming down."

"What time are you beaming down, sir?"

"1600 hours," Jim replied distractedly, beginning to leave the transporter room. "Make sure someone's on duty." Kyle began to say that there would be someone on duty around the clock both days they would be in orbit, but the captain left the room before he had the chance. He settled instead with chuckling to himself, wondering who would be accompanying the captain to the planet. Scotty wasn't one to gossip, but he may have mentioned to one or two transporter techs that the captain was planning on going on a date at some point during their two days of orbit...

* * *

Jim stepped into Spock's quarters with a sigh and the Vulcan glanced up at him questioningly from his desk, PADD in his lap.

"Is something wrong?" he asked as Jim stood in the doorway with a sheepish expression.

"I, uh, I kind of made a dumb mistake," Jim mumbled. "I didn't check and – it's wintertime in the place I was planning on taking you. I'm really sorry, I know you don't like the cold, I should have checked..."

Spock could not bring himself to be annoyed the way Jim seemed to expect him to be, finding the younger man's embarrassment to be illogically endearing.

"That is not a problem," he replied steadily. "I will simply wear winter clothing to accommodate for the temperature."

"You've got winter clothes? Oh, good," Jim sighed in visible relief. "I was afraid you wouldn't." Spock raised an eyebrow but said simply,

"When are we leaving?"

"1600 hours, ship's time. We're two hours ahead of where we'll be beaming down."

"Understood. I look forward to a pleasant evening." Jim smiled a warm, soft smile at him.

"Me, too, Spock," he replied before going back to his own quarters.

* * *

At 1600 hours Jim studied himself in his mirror one last time. He was wearing his favorite pair of dark-washed semi-skinny jeans (the ones that made his ass look _glorious_) with his black uniform boots. A white long sleeved shirt was nearly entirely hidden underneath his dark green winter jacket and a black scarf. He grinned at himself in the mirror – freshly showered and shaved, his teeth brushed and his hair tidy. He was ready.

He walked out into the hallway to retrieve Spock. He chimed the door and after a brief moment Spock joined him in the hallway and Jim's heart stuttered.

Spock looked – well, _amazing_. A dark gray double-breasted coat adorned his frame beneath a navy blue scarf, over a pair of black pants and black leather shoes – and every piece of clothing looked as if it had been made for the express purpose of being worn by him. He had so rarely seen the Vulcan out of uniform he could scarcely believe it was Spock, for he looked just like one of the tall, lanky, brooding male models in Terran advertisements. Spock noticed his scrutiny and asked,

"Am I presentable?"

"Yeah, you, uh..." Jim began, glancing around – the hallway was clear. "You look really good. Like, _really_ great." Spock raised an eyebrow at his lack of eloquence.

"Shall we go?" he said, and they headed for the nearest transporter room.

None other than Scotty himself was waiting for them at the transporter controls. He grinned slyly when Jim stepped into the room – and his eyes bulged when Spock followed him. Jim suppressed an exasperated groan as he said,

"Hello, Scotty."

"Captain," he replied in greeting, eying the pair in confusion. "I, ah, was under the impression ye were goin' on a date on th' planet, sir." Jim smiled slightly and, he hoped, enigmatically as he and Spock stepped onto the transporter pad.

"Who says I'm not?" he replied coolly, and, with a glance at Spock, commanded, "Energize."

When they were gone, Scotty leaned back in sheer and utter shock. The captain and _Spock_... looking back now it began to make sense, but Scotty had only ever known Jim to court women – not stoic, Vulcan, undeniably masculine _men_.

He needed a sandwich, and maybe some scotch to wash it down.

Twenty minutes later Uhura scurried in and, glancing about to ensure they were alone, promptly demanded,

"Who was it, who was it?"

"Ach, lass, ye won't believe it," Scotty replied. "But – it was Spock!" Uhura squealed and threw her arms around the bewildered Scotsman.

"I knew it!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I _knew_ it!"

"What?" Scotty exclaimed, shocked, but was silence when she kissed him firmly, only adding to his confusion – not that he was complaining.

"Don't tell anyone!" Uhura said as she pulled away. "They'll let us all know when they're ready, so don't ruin it." Scotty sighed.

"I doona understand ye, lass, but I won't tell," he assured her, and she kissed him again, smiling against his lips.

She knew McCoy would be furious if he found out after what Chapel had told her – but that was the least of her concerns. She had known Spock had wanted Jim since before he left the _Enterprise – _probably before he even realized it himself – and somehow she knew, she _knew_, they would be all kinds of wonderfully happy together. So she was happy too.

* * *

They were beamed down to a small space travel center where a woman greeted them, smiling broadly as she said,

"Welcome to Wrigley's Pleasure Planet, gentlemen. Do you require a map? Directions?"

"No, thank you," Jim replied, smiling back politely, then looked over at Spock. "Let's go."

They stepped out of the building and onto the sidewalk. A light dusting of snow covered the ground, brightening the walkways of the quiet, spacious city. It was a little cold, but not too bad yet since it was still the afternoon. Jim pulled his pocket PADD from the pocket of his coat.

"Let's see," he said, pulling up the directions on the touchscreen. "Here we go. Come on, it's this way." Spock followed him complacently as he began striding down the sidewalk, and Jim slackened his pace for a brief moment so that Spock was walking next to him. They continued down the sidewalk this way for several strides, then Jim glanced carefully over at Spock, who had both hands pressed firmly into his coat pockets – and so Jim reached over and looped his arm through Spock's. The Vulcan glanced quickly at him, visibly surprised – but he only smiled at him and after a moment of adjustment Spock's arm relaxed into his. Contentment bubbled in his chest as they made their way down the sidewalk. The museum was only about half a mile away, and they arrived at the large, stately building before long.

"Here we are," Jim said as he turned to face the building.

"An art museum," Spock stated, studying the fanciful architecture. Jim gently squeezed his arm.

"Yeah," he replied, smiling hesitantly. "I figured that it would be something you would enjoy. Is – is this alright?"

"This is very agreeable," Spock replied evenly, looking softly at Jim, who beamed back at him with relief obvious in his features.

"Good, I'm glad," he said, and they walked into the museum. They paid their admission fee and then began perusing the many aisles and adjoining rooms. Quickly Jim realized that each section was divided by the planet the art hailed from, and they arrived first in the room of Earth art – unsurprising, as the majority of the population on Wrigley's was Human.

"Look!" Jim exclaimed in wonder, grabbing Spock's sleeve as he stepped into another room. "Look, it's an actual Van Gogh painting!"

"I was not aware you are familiar with classical artists," Spock said as he studied the piece Jim was gesturing at.

"I'm not, really, but... I know that piece. It's called 'Irises'."

They observed the painting for a moment, Jim with an expression of near-childlike awe, Spock with a technical appreciation.

"Most curious that the only white flower is so far from the center of the piece," he commented. "Generally such a focal point would be positioned in the center."

"It's different," Jim replied. "The others don't want it around because it's different, it's special. It's a Human thing – push away the things you don't understand." Spock glanced briefly at him, wondering when he had become so well-acquainted with the piece to formulate so strong an opinion. Of course, he said nothing; but he wondered, even as they moved on to more recent artworks and sculptures.

They wandered into the next section, Andorian art. After a few rows of fanciful landscapes and brightly colored portraits, they entered a room and they both stopped dead.

The walls were covered from ceiling to floor in fairly small sheets of paper all posted one after another. Some were painted, some resembled relief sculptures, and some simply bore a single word in the foreign Andorian script – and it was stunning.

"What _is_ this?" Jim murmured as Spock, ever helpful, found a plaque explaining the installation.

"This artist made a single artwork every day for an Andorian year reflecting his thoughts and feelings that day," Spock explained, scanning the information quickly. "They are put in chronological order. To Andorians, living is in and of itself an art form and to them a true 'masterpiece' comes in the culmination of one's entire lifetime. This is something of a reflection of that."

"Wow," Jim breathed as he studied each sheet of paper in turn. "This is really amazing, isn't it? Like looking into someone's life. I wish I could read Andorian now..."

They spent a long time in that room, then finally moved on.

After a while they arrived in the Vulcan section of the museum. It seemed woefully small compared to the other sections – but that did not come as a surprise to either of them.

Quietly – reverently, even – they stepped into the single room of Vulcan artworks and examined them each in turn. There were very few paintings, all dating back from before the Age of Surak. One of a burning red desert landscape, then one of a fierce-looking Vulcan warrior. Jim paused briefly in front of a depiction of two male warriors, standing naked side-by-side with nearly feral expressions and long shaggy hair, each holding a weapon Jim knew was called a lirpa, the bladed ends crossed in what appeared to be an act not of violence but of teamwork.

When Spock moved on, Jim cast a furtive, somewhat embarrassed glance below the warrior's waists. He knew he was blushing as he hurriedly studied the foreign genitalia in a mixture of anxiety and curiosity – and found himself wondering if that was what Spock looked like, with the peculiar double ridges and the distinct lack of testicles – _where the hell did he keep them, then? _Again he flushed with embarrassment, wondering what the hell he was doing, and quickly rejoined Spock, hoping he would not ask any questions about his delay.

Spock did not acknowledge him as he stood next to him once more – he was studying the fourth and final painting. A Vulcan woman was depicted walking with a bundle of some kind of grain under one arm, and by the other hand was leading a small child. Jim could not tell if the child was a boy or a girl, but it looked up at the mother with an expression that was obviously adoring even on stern Vulcan features.

Jim suddenly felt like a complete asshole – he had been off making notes on Vulcan junk while Spock was here and likely hurting. _Stupid, stupid, stupid..._ He looked hesitantly at Spock's face and and found the Vulcan's gaze locked not on the mother as he had expected, but on the child. His lips were pressed together tightly and Jim was unsure what to do.

"You okay?" he asked gently. Spock tore his gaze away and met Jim's questioning eyes. His expression softened and Jim was all the more bewildered.

"I am fine," he replied just as quietly, and they moved on.

All the post-Reform artworks were either vibrant tapestries that Spock murmured depicted ancient Vulcan rituals, or metal sculpture-looking things of Vulcan glyphs that Jim studied for a long while – the text was so fluid and graceful that although he could not read it he understood now why Vulcan words, Vulcan calligraphy, was considered its own art form.

"Would you like me to translate?" Spock offered and slowly Jim shook his head.

"No, I... I think I like it better not knowing. Beauty in the mysterious, you know?" Spock raised an eyebrow.

"I find your reasoning highly peculiar for a human. When we viewed the Van Gogh piece you said yourself it was a reflection of the human fear of the unknown, yet now you claim there is beauty in what you do not understand." Jim grinned sheepishly and looked away.

"Yeah, well," he murmured. "If I were one of those blue irises I wouldn't be captain, would I?" Spock stared at him for a long moment with an expression Jim could not name, pondering the deeper meaning of his statement, before replying,

"No, I daresay you would not."

They spent a little more time in the museum and the adjoining gift shop before Jim glanced at the clock and exclaimed,

"Oh, we'd better get going or we'll be late for our dinner reservation."

They stepped back outside – it had grown a bit colder and Spock stood closer to Jim than he had before. Luckily (or perhaps unluckily, from Jim's perspective) the restaurant was nearby and they reached it before long.

As Jim approached a uniformed woman standing just beyond the entrance to be seated, Spock studied the interior of the building, noting the whimsical and ornate style of the architecture and design that had been prominent in the other buildings they had seen – a reflection of the hedonistic lifestyle pursued by the planet's inhabitants, he was sure. Fascinating.

They were seated at a small table, fairly private, facing across from each other. Jim grinned as Spock continued to study their surroundings.

"This is quite a well-run establishment," he commented finally.

"You like it?" Jim asked eagerly, his smile widening.

"Yes," Spock replied evenly in spite of the contentment rushing through him and the sensation Humans often referred to as "butterflies in his stomach".

They scrolled through the touchscreen menu on their table and punched in their orders, Jim delighting in the fact that the restaurant had real Earth lobster, while Spock selected an elaborate Tellarite vegetable dish.

"Did you like the museum?" Jim asked as they waited for their food.

"Yes. It was an enjoyable and enlightening experience," Spock replied, conscious that his hands were folded on the table in front of him while Jim's were splayed across the clear surface.

"Told you it'd be amazing," Jim replied, finding Spock's answer to apparently be satisfactory. "You can just go ahead and say it – I have great taste. I totally know what you want – what you _need_." He waggled his eyebrows in a way that Spock understood was meant to be seductive, but the motion was grossly exaggerated and Spock fought against a smile as Jim succumbed to a fit of laughter. "Well, seriously for a minute – I'm really glad you agreed to this, Spock. Thanks for giving me a chance."

"It would be illogical to deny you without first, as you might say, 'testing the waters'," Spock replied primly, and Jim wrinkled his nose.

"Well, thanks," he replied, smiling wryly. "That made me feel real good about myself."

"I am certain I can employ other methods of bringing you pleasure," Spock replied tonelessly, feeling suddenly daring, and Jim's eyes widened in shock before he burst into another peal of laughter. Spock tried not to let it show that the fact that he could make Jim laugh brought him a deep satisfaction.

They continued to engage in the human practice of "flirting" through the remainder of their meal, which was quite palatable, adding to their pleased, jovial atmosphere. When they were done eating and beginning to consider heading back to the ship, Jim nudged Spock's foot with his own under the table and murmured,

"We don't have to go back to the ship yet, you know – it'd be easy to rent a hotel room, just stay here for the night..." His unspoken offer hung heavy in the air between them and Spock was suddenly filled with apprehension.

"I would prefer not to," he said carefully, then added, "Our absence would likely begin to spread more rumors than I am comfortable with." To his relief, Jim grinned and even laughed a bit, so he was not upset.

"You're right, of course," he agreed. "Back to the ship it is."

They were beamed back up to the ship by Scotty, again – thankfully he said nothing other than "Welcome back, Cap'n, Mr. Spock" as they stepped down from the transporter pad.

They walked together back to their quarters – and Spock stopped, surprised, when Jim followed him past the door to his own quarters.

"S-Sorry," he said quickly, flustered. "I just wanna walk you to your door. You know, be a gentleman and all." Slowly Spock nodded his assent and they walked the remaining few steps to Spock's door. "Can I, uh, can I come in?"

Spock paused nervously and glanced about the hallway. A passing yeoman shot them a curious look – then noticed Spock watching her and looked away hurriedly, quickening her pace. The hallway was empty.

"Come in," he assented, and they stepped into his quarters.

The door closed behind them and Jim hovered a few steps inside as Spock stepped into the middle of the room and pulled off his scarf, folding it and placing it immaculately in a drawer. He moved to unbutton his coat when Jim said quickly,

"Wait." Spock looked questioningly at him and he added, "I, uh, I like that coat on you. Don't change yet." Spock lowered his hands and they stood staring at each other until Jim held out an arm and said nervously,

"Come here." Spock took a hesitant step forward and Jim gestured with an impatient hand. "Here, come _here_." The moment Spock was within his arm's reach, Jim pulled him close, wrapping his arms around his upper back with his face settling into the crook of the Vulcan's neck. Spock nearly jerked back, startled, but did not and instead stood stiffly with his arms remaining at his sides. He could feel Jim breathing against his skin, could feel the gentle pressure of his head resting on his shoulder.

"I had a really nice time today," Jim said slowly, his breath ghosting against Spock's pulse point. "Thanks for that." A pause. "Do you believe me now, that I love you?"

"I am more receptive to the idea now, yes," Spock replied softly, his voice a low rumble to Jim's ear against his throat, and he could feel the younger man smile against his skin. They stood this way for fourteen seconds before Jim pulled his head away to look Spock in the eye, his hands sliding down to settle around Spock's hips.

"I really... I really want to kiss you," he said, his voice low and fervent. "Can I kiss you?" Spock's gaze was steady as he appeared to evaluate the offer.

"You may," he replied softly, and Jim smiled as he leaned forward to kiss him, Spock tilting his head to meet him halfway.

The kiss started off as gentle and chaste as their previous one on New Vulcan had been, but quickly became more fevered, more insistent. Spock felt Jim's mouth move against his own and he reciprocated forcefully, and when Jim's tongue tickled his lips he eagerly let him in. He did not realize he had moved his once-stationary arms until he felt Jim's shoulder clutched beneath his hand.

The velvety-smooth feeling of Jim's tongue against his own was all he count concentrate on – until the Human's hands moved from his hips to press against his lower back, sending sizzles of pleasure up Spock's spine and he jerked his mouth away with a gasp, Jim's head lurching forward with the sudden movement and he pulled his hands away quickly.

"Sorry, sorry," he said breathlessly. "What did I do, did I hurt you?"

"No, I..." Spock struggled for words, finding it exceedingly difficult to formulate proper sentences. "The... the lower back is a – a highly erogenous zone for male Vulcans." A flush crept over both faces and Jim sputtered,

"...Oh, I – I, uh, I'm sorry." There was an uncomfortable pause, then he asked, "Why is... Why _there_?" Spock visibly composed himself and replied unsteadily,

"As I am sure you noticed while perusing the Vulcan artwork, Vulcan testicular systems are quite different from their Human counterparts." Jim blushed again – nothing seemed to escape Spock's notice, much to his dismay. "That particular component of our reproductive system is located within the body, near the kidneys, due to superior internal temperature control, and – and can be stimulated through touch in the lower back."

"So..." Jim replied hesitantly, carefully letting his hands settle back to where they had been and Spock closed his eyes, leaning into the pleasurable contact. "So me touching you here would be like... Like you cradling my balls?"

"A very... colloquial phrasing, but essentially, yes," Spock managed to reply. A pause.

"God, that is so fucking hot," Jim said breathlessly – then he ground his palms into the small of Spock's back and muffled the answering cry with his mouth.

They kissed furiously, Jim's hands rubbing small insistent circles into Spock's back, and he didn't realize he was making small needy sounds in the back of his throat until the cool Human mouth pulled away from his own to kiss and lick down the length of his throat, travel back up and again claim his slightly bruised, green-flushed lips.

Jim's tongue was in his mouth. Jim's hands were kneading the small of his back. Jim moved his hips and the evidence of the younger man's arousal undulated gently against his own. Jolts of pleasure burst through his synapses, and –

– and suddenly all he could see were fevered red-tinted images of pinning the Human down and taking him, violently, mindlessly, of biting down hard into that lightly tanned shoulder and reveling in the cool Human red blood that he brought to the surface, marking that body as his and his alone, of aching to satiate the need that consumed him so that he barely even heard Jim's sobs and cries of "please Spock please stop, please you have to stop no stop, god no, Spock please I'm begging you – "

And suddenly Spock found himself begging, "Stop, stop, Jim please stop..." Quickly Jim complied, looking bewildered, as Spock stumbled a step away, clamping a hand over his mouth – _he would not vomit, he would not vomit, he would not vomit – _and panted for breath and Jim reached for him, hesitant, worried, confused.

"What's wrong?" he asked desperately, brows furrowed. "What happened, what's wrong, Spock?"

Spock could not find the ability to speak and so blindly reached out his other hand. Jim grabbed it – and was suddenly surrounded with flashes of guilt and revulsion and above all, complete terror – absolute, crippling fear of bringing harm to another, of hurting _him_ – and as Spock jerked his hand away Jim understood. He put his hands on Spock's shoulders, turning him so that they faced each other.

"It's okay, it's okay," he said gently as Spock closed his eyes. "I'm okay, see? You didn't hurt me. You're not gonna hurt me, Spock. It's okay, everything's okay, it's gonna be okay..." Slowly Spock's breathing calmed as Jim continued to murmur into his ear, and he straightened up shakily.

"I..." he began faintly. "I apologize..."

"Don't," Jim replied firmly, then smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry too. Too much too fast... Don't be sorry. We're gonna go at your pace, okay? We're only gonna move as fast as you're comfortable with." He chuckled dryly. "Besides, you're not supposed to fuck on the first date anyway. It's okay. If anything, it's my fault." He rubbed soothing circles on Spock's shoulder with his thumb and hesitantly Spock met his gaze.

"I do want..." he began, hesitated, then said firmly, "I desire to be in a romantic relationship with you." Jim grinned, his eyes brightening

"Of course," he said softly, joy permeating his tone. "Come here." He pulled Spock closer and embraced him and this time Spock did not hesitate to wrap his arms around the smaller man.

He was breathing in Jim's scent and Jim's head rested against his shoulder. His arms were wrapped around Jim's torso, and Jim's arms were wrapped around him. Spock closed his eyes, pressed his lips to the Human's dirty-blond hair, and the rest of the world melted away.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Hey everyone! Thanks to all the people who reviewed.

I know no one wants to hear this, but **this story is going on a very brief hiatus after this chapter.** I'm really, really sorry, you guys, but I'm just having a very difficult time actually working on the actual writing part of writing this fic when I'm worrying about having a chapter written, edited, and ready to go once a week. I don't want to rush writing or editing it because I want to give you guys the best work I can come up with, and if that means taking it a bit slower and putting updates on pause for a few weeks, well, that's what I'm going to do. So I'll be working exclusively on getting this fic finished during November and if things go according to plan, **updates will resume in early- to mid-December**. Like I said, just a few weeks, maybe even less than a month.

As such, I'll be leaving you guys with a nice, fluffy chapter to tide you over until then, because I promise the angst will be in full-swing before too much longer. ;) As always, comments and critiques are appreciated. (again, though, if you are going to critique, please actually leave me something substantial. Saying I suck doesn't help me get any better :P ) Please enjoy this chapter, and I'll see you all in December! :)

* * *

Chapter Six

"_It is never too late to be who you might have been._" - George Eliot

* * *

"Mistair Spock?"

Spock turned his attention away from the reports he had been reviewing in the science offices on deck seven and was mildly surprised to see Ensign Chekov standing in the doorway, running a hand through his unruly curls. It was 1900 hours, a time at which Beta shift was in full swing and the science offices were generally fairly uninhabited, hence Spock's presence. It seemed, however, that he would be facing another delay in reviewing the reports he needed to authorize.

"Yes, Ensign?" he asked, setting his PADD aside. Chekov shifted his weight from one leg to the other, a curious Human mannerism that Spock had found to usually indicate feelings of distress or anxiety.

"I vas vondering if I might speak with you a moment, sir," the ensign replied, his accent thick. Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Seeing as how you are already speaking with me, I am listening," he answered steadily, and Chekov looked away, flushing. The youth pursed his lips then began carefully,

"I vish to apologize to you, sir."

"Apologize?" Spock repeated, caught off guard. "Ensign, you have no reason to be apologizing to me."

"It vas wery long time ago," Chekov said quickly. "On the... day of the Narada massacre, sir, I... I vas the one at transporter controls. I vas the one who lost your mother's signal, sir." Spock began to protest, but then refrained from doing so as the ensign began to speak again. "I vas wery sorry, wery guilty. I am still wery sorry. I meant to apologize long ago, sir, but you left the ship before I, how you say, mustered the courage to speak to you, sir, but I..." He trailed off, muttered something intelligible in Russian, then concluded, "But I haf courage now so I vill say it. Mistair Spock, I am wery sorry. I failed your family and I regret it still."

For a moment Spock was silent, studying the ensign's nervous, youthful features, then slowly he stood. Chekov was young but not small in stature, yet Spock stood head and shoulders over him – he was, however, by no means intimidating as he steadily met Chekov's gaze, a careful gentleness in his gaze that took the young Russian by surprise.

"I understand your sentiments, and please know that I truly appreciate them," he said, selecting his words carefully. "However, they are not necessary. Never have I associated my mother's death with you. I apologize for the distress this line of thinking has surely caused you, however. And I believe the proper response to your apology is 'I forgive you'."

Chekov's eyes glistened and Spock hoped dearly that the ensign would not cry – that would surely be more than he could manage – but the young man replied steadily, vehemently,

"Thank you, sir." He gave a hasty salute and turned to leave.

"Ensign."

"Yes, sir?"

"I understand you are writing a paper that is to be published in an Earth-based astrophysics magazine."

"Ah – yes, sir."

"If you are in need of a proof-reader or a letter of recommendation, I would be pleased to offer you my assistance."

A wide smile split the young ensign's face.

"I vould appreciate that, Mistair Spock, wery much."

* * *

Janice Rand was something of a ditz.

She loved her job and worked hard at what she did, taking the duties of being a yeoman very seriously (perhaps a bit too seriously, but no one complained). But in spite of that, she would never be considered by others to be the brightest, the sharpest, or the most tactful of the bunch.

Which was why she nearly screamed and sent her PADD soaring as she was leaving Commander Spock's quarters after cleaning the room (another yeomanly duty she took very seriously) because she nearly walked face-first into the commander himself.

"Oh – Commander!" she exclaimed, blushing a bright shade of red. "I – I'm sorry." She retrieved her PADD from the floor, not daring to look at the Vulcan.

"It is of little consequence, Yeoman. I apologize as well. Is your PADD damaged?"

"No, I, um, I think it's okay," she replied, giving it a few taps just to be sure. "I was just, um, tidying your quarters, sir."

"I am aware of that." He began to step into his quarters when suddenly Janice remembered – how could she forget?

"Oh, Commander Spock," she said quickly before he could retreat. "Um, the other day, when I was off-duty, Yeoman Flaubert knocked over your, um, your incense burner and it broke."

"Yes, I know."

"Well, um, I went and bought you a new one off the net. I think she might have broken it on purpose, and, um, I felt bad about it, sir."

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"That was unnecessary, Yeoman, but I appreciate your kindness." Again he turned to go – oh no, she still had to say – !

"Commander Spock!" she exclaimed, and he paused again and she blushed. "Sorry, sir, just one more thing..." He pursed his lips and nodded for her to continue.

"Well, sir, I – I know that some of the crew doesn't like you for leaving the ship," she said. "But – I just wanted you to know that I don't think that way about you, sir. I think you're a good person." She blushed again. "Or, um, a good Vulcan. Sir."

Spock stared at her a moment – she felt more flustered than she had ever felt before in her entire life, oh no, he would think she was stupid, what was she thinking, saying that –

"Thank you, Yeoman Rand," Spock said, his voice a little less cold, a little less clipped, than what she was used to hearing from him. Janice smiled, relieved.

"Of course, sir," she replied brightly. "Well, that was all. I've got duties to attend to!"

She walked down the hallway with a skip in her step. Janice Rand might not be smart or tactful – but she liked to think that she was the most honest person she knew. If only she knew how to tell Hazel Tolero in Engineering how hideous her new hair color was...!

* * *

"Spock!"

He looked up from his morning meal just in time to see Uhura grinning her characteristic bright smile as she sat down across from him.

"Good morning, Nyota," he said in reply.

"I have a big favor to ask you; remember that pre-Reform song we performed for the Academy talent show a couple years ago?"

"I do."

"Okay, well – some of us are having a bit of an impromptu concert tonight down in the rec room on deck twelve. Think you can bust out your ka'athyra and accompany me?"

"I do not have any pressing matters to attend to this evening, so I would be pleased to." She grinned at him, happiness emanating from her, and Spock truly was pleased.

"Great! Okay, we're meeting in the rec room at 1900 but we should probably get there a bit early to rehearse a bit, you know, maybe around 1830..."

That evening there were only about fifteen people gathered in the rec room for the little musical display. Ensign Hampton was just about to start off with his trumpet when Captain Kirk came hurrying into the rec room where he sat down next to Scotty with a breathless grin. Uhura smiled to herself when Spock visibly relaxed in his seat next to her when the captain entered the room.

They were the fourth to perform out of seven. Spock's hands glided over the strings of his ka'athyra as though it were completely second nature, the notes he gently plucked weaving in and out of Uhura's voice. She was a little out of practice with her singing, but since it was a Vulcan song no one seemed to notice. What Uhura did notice, though, was that through their four-minute-long performance, the captain never once looked away from the Vulcan playing the riveting melody that accompanied her. She again smiled a small smile – they couldn't be more obvious if they tried.

Smatterings of applause heralded the end of their performance and Scotty leaned over and kissed Uhura's cheek, murmuring something in her ear that made her smile and laugh. Kirk did no such thing to Spock – but it definitely looked like he wanted to.

* * *

"I didn't know you were a musician, Spock."

"I never had a reason to speak of it before."

"You were amazing tonight, you and Uhura."

"I appreciate your sentiment."

Jim took a step forward and closed the gap between their bodies.

"What else don't I know about you?" he murmured softly, wrapping his arms about Spock's waist, pulling his warm, lithe form closer to himself.

"I believe I have to right to keep some secrets," Spock replied with a hint of a teasing tone. Their noses were touching, eyes half-closed and unfocused.

"Maybe someday I'll know all there is to know about you. Of course, by then I'm sure you'll have just come up with more things to be secretive about, won't you?"

"The probability of such an occurrence is high."

"Maybe someday there won't be anymore secrets." A pause – not awkward or hesitant or anxious, but gentle and contemplative and hopeful. "This has been the best week of my life, you know. A week together with you."

"While such a statement is highly objective, I do agree that it has been an exceedingly pleasant seven Standard days."

"You don't believe me? Fine, prove me wrong."

"And how should I go about such a thing?"

"Make the next week even better. Then the week after that – " a kiss on the cheek punctuated the word. " – and the week after that – " a kiss on the opposite cheek. " – and the week after that – " a kiss on a delicately pointed ear. " – and every single week after that better than the one before, every week until the day I die..."

"Then surely I will endeavor to do so."

Their lips met slowly, lazily, unhurried and knowing that there would be a time for frantic, needy kisses later – but not then, not now. Now, they kissed softly, gently, nurturing and savoring their moment together the way they had savored the past week that was the beginning of their relationship. They kissed knowing that for now it was enough, and they were content.

* * *

Time passed, and eventually life aboard the _Enterprise_ returned to largely the way it was for Spock before he left. Crewmen stopped shooting him curious or accusing looks in the hallways. His nightmares were finally gone. The command crew, with whom he spent roughly sixty percent of his time, all seemed eager to re-assume their working relationships with him after it became apparent that his stay would be more permanent than everyone seemed to anticipate.

He helped Ensign Chekov complete his paper on astrophysics. Lieutenant Sulu invited him to the botany lab several times to study the various alien plant specimens they had gathered in their travels. Chief Engineer Scott often consulted him about various engine modifications he was attempting (a few of which were of dubious legality, but Spock was fairly certain that Mr. Scott, much like the captain, would not heed regulations even if reprimanded). Commander Giotto, the head of Security, invited him to spar with other members of the crew on Wednesday evenings (once he ended up sparring with the captain – that had been a very _interesting_ experience). Uhura was her usual smiling self, for which he was thankful. And Captain Kirk...

_Jim_. Jim was wonderful. He woke most mornings with Jim curled up against him, and they had ceased using the alarm clock in favor of kissing each other awake, thanks to Spock's internal sense of time. Fleeting glances on the bridge, quiet conversations over chess or reading or even paperwork, stolen finger-kisses between shifts – Spock took every moment that Jim made special and tucked it away not in his mind where every other memory was sorted, but in his heart. He knew it was illogical, but those memories were more important than the rest.

And with these memories in his heart being added to daily, all their other troubles seemed petty and impertinent. For the first time in a long while, Spock was more than happy – he was completely and utterly blissful.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Oh good lord you guys. I... I am SO sorry. I know I promised updates to start up again in early December and here it is, Christmas day... I am a terrible _terrible_ person, I know. :C I can only offer this as my excuse: I am a very, _very_ "slow and steady" sort of writer in that it takes me forever to finish things, but I always write at least a little bit every day. And in this case, it's been... a _very_ little bit. So I'm sorry updates took longer than I expected to resume. ;-;

I... I'm actually not quite done with the whole fic yet. Yes, I know I am a horrible person. But it's almost there! Really. I promise. The entire fic should be completed by the end of January. (I know I promised the same thing in like November... But I really am almost done this time! /sob)

So, um. If I can keep everything together, updates will continue to be every Saturday.

This is not a very exciting chapter to start up on - my apologies. But we get to see a glimpse of a character many people have asked about! : And the next chapter will be more action-packed excitement, I promise.

Again, I am SO sorry for totally dropping off the face of the planet for the past... month and a half... Thank you to those who have stuck with me and are still here after my hiatus! 3

* * *

Chapter Seven

"_Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival._" - C.S. Lewis

* * *

It had been a long day. Starfleet had sent them new orders – yet another milk run, and Jim was _not_ happy about the lack of decent missions that had been going on for nearly a month. He was tired and still more than a little irritated after eating dinner and he really, _really_ wanted some cuddle time with Spock. The thought of it filled him with as much childish glee as it had the day they had gone on their first date nearly two months ago. That was something to be thankful for about all these low-intensity missions – he had more time to spend with Spock.

He stepped into his own quarters with a faint (and probably sappy) smile. They had decided not to make their relationship public knowledge, at least not for a while, and going in through Spock's door would be sure to attract more attention than he wanted to deal with. The only one who knew was none other than Uhura herself – neither had specifically told her but the woman could be a telepath for all Jim knew, she figured things out so quickly. He supposed that by extension Scotty knew too – but the rest of the crew seemed unsuspecting enough, so they were safe for now.

Jim let his doors swish closed behind him, dropped off a few PADDs of paperwork he needed to have done by the end of the week, then stepped into the bathroom to enter Spock's quarters.

A step away from Spock's door he heard a distinctly female voice coming from the Vulcan's quarters, and he stopped.

He did not recognize the voice and could not understand what was being said. He frowned slightly – who could it be? – then heard Spock's voice, clear and understandable – "I apologize for not having been in contact more consistently. I am pleased to see you are well."

The female voice came again and Jim realized Spock was talking to someone through the commlink. His curiosity quickly got the best of him and he stepped into Spock's quarters in time to hear a soft reply of,

"Oh, I understand. I have been quite busy as well – I just started school last month."

Spock glanced quickly at him as he entered the room, but did not say anything as he sat down out of sight of the commlink (Jim may have been curious, but rude he was not. Or at least, he liked to think he wasn't).

"And how is your new school?" he asked – Jim could not see the screen clearly but assumed Spock was talking to a child.

"It is extremely agreeable, Spock. Everyone has been very kind to me."

"That is a relief to hear."

"There are many other non-human children at the school. In fact, there is even a Klingon boy in my class. I was very surprised on the first day, but he has proven to be a pleasant individual."

"I am glad. What level are you in?"

"I am in the sixth grade."

"Really? You are so very intelligent, surely they must have thought you were in at least the eighth level."

Jim's eyes bulged at the blatant fondly teasing tone in Spock's voice – then they nearly fell out of his eye sockets when he heard the voice (that he had thought belonged to a Vulcan) laugh. It was a soft laugh, not loud or raucous – but still, a _laugh_. From a _Vulcan._

"Do not be silly. You are aware that I am only eleven years old."

"Eleven years, eleven months, and seventeen days," Spock replied wryly, then changed topic abruptly. "How is your mother? Is she still ill?"

"Oh, Spock, she is doing so much better. These Earth hospitals have been much better able to care for her than the ones on New Vulcan. She has been out of the hospital for three weeks and two days – she is even able to walk."

"That is pleasing news. And... And you? You are well?"

There was a pause and Jim felt distinctly that he was missing something important, some integral part of the equation of their conversation of which he was woefully unaware.

"I am... Here, look." There was a faint rustling noise and Spock's expression became pained. "I have had one dermal regeneration surgery already. I am scheduled to have a second one in five weeks precisely that will, as the doctor says, make them 'good as new' – oh, Spock, do not look at me like that. You know you are not to blame."

"My apologies," Spock murmured, schooling his features back into his standard calm control – they were _so_ going to be talking about this, Jim decided. "I am very glad you are doing so well."

"And I am glad to see you back on the _Enterprise_. I always knew you belonged there, you know."

"I only wish I had realized the same sooner." Spock glanced quickly at Jim as he spoke, and the Human only looked curiously at him, then he turned his attention back to the screen. "I am afraid I must be going. I have a matter of some importance to attend to."

"I understand. I will attempt to contact you again in a few week's time. This general time is acceptable for you?"

"Yes. It is early evening ship's time."

"Excellent – I have just returned from school." A brief, hesitant pause. "I cherish thee, Spock." Spock's gaze literally softened, like butter against a phaser beam.

"I cherish thee, T'Lyra," he replied gently. Jim recognized that name and a thousand more questions swirled in his mind – yeah, _definitely_ discussing this. "Live long and prosper."

"Peace and long life." With that, Spock reached over and cut the connection, then turned to face Jim.

"Interesting conversation you're having," he said, a faintly teasing grin on his face.

"Indeed," he agreed simply, and Jim gave a mock scowl.

"That was – T'Lyra?"

"Yes."

"Who is she?"

"Someone I met on New Vulcan."

"Well, yeah. I'm not stupid, you know." Spock raised an eyebrow and Jim laughed, grinning. "How'd you meet her? You don't exactly strike me as someone who hangs around with kids, I guess."

"For a period of approximately five months I was responsible for looking after her in the afternoons." Jim's eyebrows shot up halfway to his hairline – while they had never talked much about Spock's stay on New Vulcan, this confession was more than a bit surprising.

"Really? How did that happen?" he asked with a hint of incredulity. Spock appeared to hesitate for a moment before replying slowly,

"She is, like myself, a Vulcan-Human hybrid." Jim's shocked expression became all the more intense at that. "Her father worked with mine at the embassy and knew of my mixed heritage. That is how I came to know her." He glanced away, almost as if nervous, and Jim studied him for a moment, his curiosity piqued.

"And judging from that conversation, she's on Earth now?"

"Yes."

"That's a bit odd, for them to leave New Vulcan in the middle of the reconstruction."

"It is inconsistent with the current mentality of the majority of Vulcan survivors, yes." Jim stared expectantly at Spock, who again cast his gaze elsewhere.

"You're not gonna tell me why they moved?" Spock's expression darkened and Jim realized, too late now, that he was treading on unsteady grounds.

"It is not something I am comfortable sharing," he finally said softly, eyes downcast. Jim sighed and ran through the overheard conversation in his head.

"She was hurt, wasn't she?" he decided. "That's why she said something about, uh – a dermal regeneration surgery. Right?"

"Please, Jim," Spock protested faintly, closing his eyes. "I do not wish to discuss this. Not now."

"Okay," Jim relented, holding up his hands in defeat. "Okay. I'm sorry." He stood and stepped over to Spock, who glanced questioningly at him as he sat down in his lap. "I love you, you know," he murmured into Spock's hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"I am aware of this, as you remind me quite often."

"I have to say I was a bit jealous that she got the Vulcan equivalent of 'I love you' when_ I_ still haven't heard it from you," Jim said teasingly, eyes twinkling in a stifled smile as he gazed at the Vulcan.

"She was all but my own child," Spock replied, eyes downcast and expression somber, in stark contrast to Jim's lighthearted expression. "I am still exceedingly fond of her." Jim paused, a serious mood suddenly overtaking him.

"Did you ever want to, you know, have kids of your own?" he asked, feeling suddenly uneasy. Spock looked at him questioningly and replied,

"I had never considered the matter." He appeared to hesitate briefly before continuing, "As a hybrid conceived and engineered at a time when interspecies breeding was still in a trial stage, I am infertile. Thus I never put any thought into being a father, as it has always been an impossibility."

"...Oh," Jim replied lamely, mulling over this new bit of information. He hadn't known that about Spock – obviously. Part of him was a bit glad – after all, if Spock _had_ wanted kids someday, could he have asked him to make that sacrifice for them to be together? (Not that he had brought up the implication of "forever" to Spock. Not yet, at least. It was way too soon for that.) The rest of him felt guilty and a bit ashamed about that small glad part. He did not know what to say to that so instead cuddled closer to Spock. The Vulcan's arms wrapped around him protectively.

"She seemed like a nice girl, that T'Lyra," Jim murmured.

"Perhaps one day you can meet her. I am sure she would not be adverse to the idea," Spock replied, voice soft.

"I'd like that."

"You are not... jealous of my affection towards her?" Spock asked hesitantly, and Jim nearly laughed.

"Of course not, she's a kid," he assured him, then raised an eyebrow in imitation of the Vulcan and continued in a sultry tone, "Now, if she had been some beautiful Vulcan woman in our age group talking to you like that, _then_ I might feel a little threatened..."

"I see," Spock murmured. "You need not ever suffer from jealousy, as I do not think I could escape your clutches if I tried." Jim laughed and Spock pulled him closer, pressing his face into the junction between Jim's neck and shoulder. "I cherish thee." It was little more than a whisper against his skin – but it was a whisper that set Jim's heart aglow with joy and he smiled a slow, radiant smile.

"I love you too," he replied reverently, and he leaned forward and took Spock's hand and they kissed.

* * *

McCoy's life had become a quiet one since he and Jim stopped talking. After a while it struck him how Jim had been his social lifeline – he had been busying himself wholly with his work in Sickbay; no more visits to the bridge or late night drinking socials.

Not that he was complaining. No, of course not. He had been getting more sleep than he had in months, all his paperwork was getting in early, and Sickbay was running more efficiently than ever. Nothing to be complaining about. Besides, having a social life was an overrated young man's game. He didn't miss it, not one bit.

Nurse Chapel, of course, didn't believe a word of that.

"You'll have to man up and deal with this eventually, you know," she told him every chance she got. He would always scowl and reply,

"There's nothin' to deal with. It's over. How many times do I gotta tell you that?"

"You can dislike Mr. Spock all you want, but you shouldn't have taken it out on the Captain. I think you still owe him an apology."

"Well, that's why you're you and I'm me. I've got nothin' to apologize for." And with that he would always gather up his PADD or finish sanitizing his hands or go back to the patient he had been tending to, leaving Chapel with her arms crossed over her chest, an exasperated sigh leaving her lips.

He was not sorry and he did not miss Jim. And the Captain didn't seem to miss him either – of course not, not with the hobgoblin to entertain him. Rumor on the ship was that they were going at it like rabbits, because no one could come up with any other explanation for their seemingly constant good moods (or, at least, as much of a good mood as anyone could get out of Spock). But McCoy wasn't bitter, of course not. He didn't care what the Captain did with his personal life. That wasn't his job.

Even though he thought of their venomous parting words every night as he lay down to sleep, even though he knew exactly how many days had passed since they stopped talking – he didn't care. Of course not.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Happy New Year, everyone! I hope that 2011 treats you all well :D

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter :)

For those who have mentioned something like this: yes, I am aware of how unsettling the lack of McCoy and his snarkiness is. Patience, my dears. ;]

* * *

Chapter Eight

"_Keep your fears to yourself but share your courage with others._" - Robert Louis Stevenson

* * *

So this "milk run" mission ended up not going quite the way it was supposed to. Somehow, Kirk was not surprised.

They had been scheduled to rendezvous with a large freighter ship to drop off some supplies. The ship had not been at the rendezvous point but was a little less than one parsec away – not an entirely unusual occurrence as the ship's navigational systems were decidedly less precise than the _Enterprise_'s.

What _was_ unusual, however, was that their scanners detected that the freighter was floating derelict, lifeless, and crippled – and that something was causing engine malfunctions in the _Enterprise_.

Kirk pondered the information for all of five seconds, then swiveled in the command chair to look at Spock.

"Your thoughts, Mr. Spock?" he asked, his features troubled. Spock paused whatever he had been doing at the science console and turned to face him.

"The data we have gathered suggests that the engines and life support systems of the _Nexonatl_ ceased functioning, causing the crew of twenty-seven to perish. Our engines have now reported malfunctions, suggesting a nearby outside cause of engine failure." Kirk sighed and leaned back.

"Unfortunately, I was thinking the same thing," he murmured, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Any ideas on what's causing the problems?"

"I believe that we do not have sufficient information to formulate a hypothesis at this time," Spock replied, glancing back at his screens. "Our long-range sensors should have more information within three minutes, however."

"All right. Let me know once you have something." Kirk promptly turned his attention elsewhere as Spock nodded and began working at his station once more. "Sulu, I want you to keep a careful distance from the _Nexonatl_ for now. If something out there caused it to break down, I don't want us to fall victim to it too."

"Aye, sir," Sulu replied, but Kirk had already swiveled in his chair to call out to Uhura,

"Found anything?"

"There are traces of a standard subspace SOS that was sent out once in this area, about forty-five minutes ago," Uhura replied, fingers flying over her controls with her eyes locked steadily on the screens.

"So it works slowly enough that they had time to realize they were in trouble," Kirk mused to himself before replying, "Send out a message to Starfleet alerting them of the situation. Unless we receive contact from them I'm acting on my own judgment."

"Aye," she replied, fiddling with her earpiece, and he turned away to look at the viewscreen. The _Nexonatl_ was a fairly standard freight ship, bulky and rectangular in a dirty reddish color. It was perfectly normal in appearance – there were probably thousands of ships identical to it – but looking at it made Kirk feel uneasy.

"Captain," came Spock's voice, and Kirk looked away from the viewscreen. "Our long-range sensors have finished scanning. It appears that a gas planet in the nearby Kot-Fi system is experiencing a major plasma storm. The resulting electrical interference may have been sufficient to severely inhibit the _Nexonatl_'s engines, even at this distance." Kirk pursed his lips and nodded slowly.

"Okay," he replied. "Could it affect us?"

"It is possible. However, I believe the _Nexonatl_ was closer to the planet when engine failure occurred, then drifted here. Therefore any effect on the _Enterprise_ will be significantly less rapid."

"Okay," Kirk murmured, thinking. After a brief pause he said briskly, "I want a small away party to beam onto the _Nexonatl_ to determine the exact cause of engine failure, and a team from Medical to determine the exact cause of death of the crew, just to be certain." He appeared to realize something, then looked quickly at Spock. "Wait. Could a warp core breach happen if their electrical systems are out?"

"I doubt it," Spock replied. "If a warp core breach were possible in these circumstances, it would have occurred within fifteen minutes of engine failure. There should be no risk of such an event occurring at this time."

"Okay, good," Kirk sighed, and he clicked on his intercom control. "Engineering, this is the bridge. Come in."

"Scott here, sir."

"Mr. Scott, I want you to select your three best engineers to beam aboard the freight ship to determine the exact cause of engine failure and see if there's any way to prevent such a malfunction from occurring."

"In that case, sir, I think I'm the proper man for the job," came the reply, and Kirk bit his lip.

"I don't know if I'm comfortable with you being off the ship if the engines get worse," he said steadily and the Scotsman snorted audibly.

"Ach, sir, I can assure ye that our engines will be perfectly fine for a good long while if that little hiccup ten minutes ago is any indication of what's goin' on," Scotty said, and again Kirk sighed.

"All right, I'll trust your judgment," he relented. "But I want you to take two more engineers to help you."

"Aye, sir. We'll be in the transporter room in five minutes. We'll need space suits if the life support's been shot."

"I'll make sure they're ready for you and your team. Kirk out." He flipped the intercom switch and was about to speak into it again when Spock interjected,

"Captain, I believe I should assist the engineering team." Kirk's hands clenched on the arms of the command chair and he whirled around to face the Vulcan in a startled knee-jerk reaction.

"It could be dangerous out there," he said quickly.

"I understand this," Spock replied evenly. "However, I have a thorough knowledge of the engineering skills required in this situation, as well of these scans, which the other engineers do not." He gestured towards his station. "I believe I could be of great assistance to Mr. Scott and his team."

Slowly Kirk stood up, staring at Spock with a tense expression. Uhura turned in her chair to look at them, brow furrowed – this could turn sour easily. The rest of the bridge crew had fallen silent, studying the exchange between Captain and First Officer with uncertain curiosity.

To Spock, Kirk's gaze was a pleading one – _please don't make me do this _– but he met the captain's gaze solidly, features set in determination. Finally Kirk swallowed nervously and said,

"All right, Mr. Spock, but... just be careful." Spock bowed his head slightly, whether in acquiescence or thanks Kirk was not sure.

"Certainly," Spock replied. "Mr. Chekov, if you could man the science station in my absence?"

"Aye, sir!" came the enthusiastic reply, out of place in the suddenly tense bridge atmosphere, as Chekov nearly jumped up out of his seat to sit in the chair Spock had just vacated – but Kirk paid him no mind, his eyes focused entirely on Spock as he walked to the turbolift. Their eyes met for an instant as the turbolift doors closed around him, and then he was gone. With a sigh, Kirk flicked the intercom back on.

"Sickbay, this is the bridge. Come in."

"M'Benga here, Captain."

"Doctor, pick a team of three to beam onto the freight ship to determine the exact cause of death of the crew. Be ready in the transporter room in five minutes."

"Aye, sir, I'm on it."

"Kirk out." He turned the intercom off, then sat back heavily in his chair. He closed his eyes and took in a heavy breath, the crew glancing at him curiously. He held his breath briefly, exhaled loudly, then opened his eyes and sat up a little straighter.

"Uhura, I want you to be monitoring the away team's frequencies carefully," he said, and she suppressed a smile of understanding.

"Aye, sir," she replied, glancing at him briefly. He pursed his lips and nodded curtly in reply.

* * *

The away team had been gone for half an hour when things began to take a turn for the worse – something that happened irritatingly far too often as far as Kirk was concerned.

"Bridge, this is the transporter room, come in."

"Kirk here. What's wrong?"

"Lieutenant Kyle here, sir, we've got a problem," came the hurried reply. "Whatever was affecting the engines is affecting the transporters now. We've completely lost two and three more are severely malfunctioning – I don't know how much longer the rest will last, sir." Kirk's heart fluttered in the beginnings of panic.

"Beam the away team out of there now, that's an order," he responded sharply, then quickly changed frequencies. "Away team, this is the _Enterprise_, come in." There was a pause before an answer came.

"Spock here, Captain."

"Spock, our transporters are failing. We're beaming you guys out before it's too late." Another pause, as if Spock were thinking.

"Understood," he said finally. "I will contact the transporter room immediately. Spock out."

"What do you mean contact the – ?" The connection was cut with a crackle of static. "Spock!" He slammed a hand down on his chair and growled, "What the hell is he doing?" The bridge crew was silent, having no answer for him, and he huffed and fumed in his dissatisfaction.

A few tense moments passed before Lieutenant Kyle's voice came through the intercom again. "Sir, we've gotten everyone out except for Mr. Spock, who requested to be beamed out last. I – dammit! We just lost another transporter."

"What? Beam him out of there now!" he exclaimed, panic jabbing at his insides.

"Scott here, sir, we're tryin' but the transporter's barely working. We've just managed to lock onto his signal." Kirk bit his lip. This was not looking good. He could hear the humming of the transporter faintly from the intercom speakers, but the noise went on for longer than normal and he heard Scotty mumbling,

"Come on, come _on..._" Suddenly the whine of the transporter changed sharply in pitch, becoming a shrill keening noise and Scotty exclaimed, "Shit, the fuses are about to blow – quick, take the controls, lad, I'm gonna... " His voice trailed off – he had stepped away from the controls – only to be replaced with Lieutenant Kyle's voice again – "I'm on it, sir!"

"What's going on down there?" Kirk demanded, leaning towards the arm of his chair frantically, heedless and uncaring of the desperate tone overtaking his voice. "Lieutenant, what's happening?"

"Ye've got to get 'im quick, lad," he heard Scotty shout. "I cannae make it last much longer!"

"I'm trying, I'm trying!" Kyle growled. "There – There, I've got him, I've got – !" The connection cut off abruptly with a hiss of static and Kirk slammed at the controls in a panic.

"Uhura, are communications out too?" he demanded, whirling to face her. She flinched at the vehemence in his voice but replied quickly,

"No, sir, but Maintenance just reported full transporter failure. Engines have dropped to fifty percent functionality and – "

"Spock to bridge," came a faint crackle from Kirk's chair and he promptly forgot Uhura's existence and scrambled to reply. "Spock to bridge, come in, please."

"Just a minute, Mr. Spock," Kirk replied breathlessly. "I'm recovering from a close encounter with a potential heart attack." Vaguely he heard a few uneasy chuckles from the bridge crew but he could focus only on the voice on the other end of the line.

"...I see," Spock replied after a slightly taken aback pause. "Perhaps you should report to Sickbay if you are experiencing such fatal organ failure."

"No, I... I think I'll be alright." He cleared his throat. "Are you okay? For a minute there it seemed like you were in a bit of trouble, Commander."

"Other than some slight disorientation from the transporter malfunction, I am functioning adequately."

"Good," Kirk replied, then seemed to gather himself. "Status report."

"We have gathered sufficient data from the _Nexonatl_ to meet your request. I will send the data to the Science department to be compiled. Mr. Scott is requesting my assistance in repairing the engines, so I cannot see to the task myself."

"Understood," Kirk replied, beginning to feel more than a little shaky in the aftermath of his panic-induced adrenalin rush.

"It would be beneficial if Ensign Chekov were sent down to Engineering to assist in repairs as well."

"Sounds reasonable to me," he said as he glanced over at the youth at the Science station. "Call up your relief and get down there, Ensign."

"Aye, sir!" he chirped enthusiastically, and he hurried over to the turbolift. Kirk turned his attention back to the voice coming from his intercom.

"Is Mr. Scott there?" he asked.

"Scott here, Captain."

"Scotty, do we have warp capability what with the state of the engines right now?" A noncommittal, hesitant noise came in reply before the Scotsman said,

"Ach, we might be able to get a wee bit over Warp Two, but I doona recommend it, Cap'n. I think it'd be safest to stick to impulse power right now."

"All right, impulse it is," he sighed. "Get those engines up to speed quickly, and have someone start repairs on the transporters. Kirk out." He turned the intercom off and took a steadying breath before continuing,

"Mr. Sulu, get us out of here. That delivery job's looking like it won't be happening any time soon."

* * *

Finally, finally, the day was over. Reports had been sent in to Starfleet, engine repairs were mainly done, two transporters were back online and no more near-disasters had taken place.

Jim stumbled into his quarters at the end of his shift and promptly collapsed onto his bed, glaring half-heartedly at the ceiling before closing his eyes and expelling a heavy breath. The stress of the day finally had a chance to catch up to him, and he was completely and utterly exhausted. Getting up for dinner seemed way too difficult to deal with – maybe he would just rest a little while then replicate something, he wasn't that hungry anyway, just so, so tired...

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he heard the door of his bathroom slide open – but all thoughts of sleep were thrown from his mind at the noise and he scrambled to his feet as Spock's voice came hesitantly from the doorway, "Jim?"

"Spock," he breathed, their eyes locking, and Jim crossed the room in a few long, hurried strides and, without preamble, grabbed the Vulcan by the shoulders and kissed him ferociously, so that they went stumbling back until Spock's back hit the bathroom wall. His hands clutched possessively at Jim's back, pulling the Human body impossibly closer to his own as their teeth clashed and their tongues swirled around the other, faint noises escaping from the backs of their throats.

"You scared the hell out of me today," Jim growled against Spock's lips. "I kept thinking we'd have to leave you behind and you'd run out of oxygen before we could get back safely – and that bullshit with the transporter, I swear to God, Spock, if you ever, _ever_ do something like that again I'm going to court martial the hell out of you."

"I am blameless for the events of today; you would be, as they say, 'laughed out of the courtroom'," he replied faintly, and they paused for a moment with their flushed foreheads pressed together as they gasped for breath. Spock cleared his throat and, his teasing tone suddenly gone, continued slowly, "If we are to keep our working relationship running at a level acceptable by Starfleet, there will be many instances such as today. As Captain, you will have to order me into undesirable situations, and as your First Officer, there will be potentially dangerous events you must be present for, and I will be forced to allow you to endanger yourself."

"I know," Jim mumbled, keeping his eyes firmly closed. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it. It doesn't mean I want to."

"I apologize for any stress I have caused you today," Spock said softly, and Jim chuckled faintly, finally opening his eyes to glance mischievously at the Vulcan.

"Yeah, well. Maybe you can make up for it by giving me a back massage. Help get rid of all that stress and tension, you know?" He grinned and extricated himself from Spock's grasp, who raised a quizzical eyebrow at the suggestion.

"I suppose that if you see it as an adequate form of repayment, Captain, I would be willing to oblige."

"I'm sure you would," Jim laughed, grabbing Spock's hand and pulling him into his quarters, then gave another tug to pull him down just enough so that he could press another kiss to the Vulcan's faintly green-flushed lips. "Or, you know, we could just do that for the rest of my life. I wouldn't mind that."

"That is a request I would be pleased to meet," Spock murmured, their arms wrapping about the other's body again, and Jim smiled against Spock's lips.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N**: Hey everyone! Thanks to all my lovely readers who left reviews. Lately I've been really bad about replying individually to reviews - sorry! Dx - but I promise that I read and appreciate every review left to me!

Just as a quick heads-up, the next chapter might be a little bit late I'm still trying to aim for an update every Saturday though! So please bear with me ^^;

As always, comments and critiques are appreciated!

* * *

Chapter Nine

"_We are made wise not by the recollection of our past, but by the responsibility for our future._" - George Bernard Shaw

* * *

After that near-disaster of a mission, their "milk run" streak came to an end – only to be replaced by a sudden influx of diplomatic missions, which irritated Jim nearly as much. Not that he didn't enjoy the exotic cultures and the fancy parties they nearly always attended – but for the most part, diplomacy was boring and he hated it.

"We're supposed to be an _exploration_ ship, you know," he grumbled over his breakfast one morning after their third diplomatic mission in a row. "I can't even remember the last time we had a real, decent mission on a nice unexplored planet."

"_I_ do," Sulu replied from across from him, Chekov nodding in agreement from the next seat over. "It was when I almost got my hand bitten off a month ago on Anaxamine III."

"Yeah, yeah!" Jim exclaimed. "The planet with those velociraptor-looking things. See, that's what I'm talking about, _that's_ why we're supposed to be in space, not to go to dinner parties with presidents of planets whose names I can't even pronounce."

"I presume you are referring to our mission on Xmpedj," Spock said, his first contribution to the conversation – Jim scowled as the name flowed easily from the Vulcan's lips. "Their leader was not a president, but was called the Highest of Ones."

"Yeah, whatever," he replied, cramming a forkful of syrup-soaked waffle into his mouth.

"With an attitude such as yours, I am not surprised you find diplomatic missions so distasteful," Spock said dryly. "I am sure the recipients of your attempts at diplomacy find it just as unpleasant."

"Hey!" Jim replied warningly, gesturing with his fork as Chekov and Sulu stifled their laughter. Before he could continue, though, Uhura and Scotty approached their table.

"Morning, guys," Uhura said brightly. "Mind if we sit with you?"

"Go for it," Sulu replied, scooting down the bench and pulling Chekov with him. Uhura squeezed in and Scotty frowned, dismayed – there was nowhere for him to sit.

"Scoot over, Spock," Jim exclaimed. "Here, Scotty, sit here."

"Much obliged, Cap'n," Scotty laughed, sitting down next to him. Jim grinned broadly at the group.

"Gang's all here," he declared, and they all chuckled in agreement (save, of course, for Spock, though his eyes did soften as he glanced over at Jim). The conversation carried on but after a moment Jim's smile faltered – over Sulu's shoulder he could see McCoy sitting down by himself on the opposite side of the room. On his tray was the breakfast the doctor ate nearly every morning for as long as Jim had known him – oatmeal and a glass of orange juice. He suppressed a sigh, feeling suddenly melancholy – which was stupid, he told himself, he shouldn't feel at all bad for him, but thinking it did nothing to change the way he felt.

He was suddenly aware of Spock's warm hand on his knee under the table and he looked away, surprised, to see the Vulcan glancing furtively at him, having obviously followed his gaze. Jim smiled and gave his hand a gentle reassuring squeeze, projecting though the contact, "_I'm okay, it's nothing._"

Spock studied him a brief moment longer, then pulled his hand away and they turned their attention back to the conversation at hand. Jim suddenly couldn't even fathom why he had felt sad – he had Spock, didn't he? And that alone as more than enough to make him the happiest man alive.

* * *

"Sir, I'm receiving a transmission from Admiral Pike," Uhura said towards the end of Alpha shift. Before Kirk could reply she frowned slightly, put a hand to her earpiece and added uncertainly, "He's requesting for this not to be broadcast on the bridge, sir." Kirk furrowed his brows, surprised, but finally replied,

"Patch it through to my briefing room, Lieutenant."

"Aye, sir."

He stood from his chair and began to walk towards the small private briefing room on the other end of the bridge, then paused and added,

"Mr. Spock, come with me, please."

"Yes, sir," came the prompt and, to Kirk's discerning ear, slightly surprised reply. They stepped into the briefing room together and the door slid shut behind them.

"Any idea on what Pike could want?" Kirk asked.

"I do not know."

"Well, that makes two of us," he sighed, and he reached for the commlink. It hummed to life and Pike's face appeared on the screen.

"Captain Kirk," he acknowledged quickly, then eyed Spock hesitantly. "...Commander Spock."

"Admiral Pike," Spock replied, tilting his head. Kirk raised an eyebrow, unnerved by the admiral's peculiarly tense behavior, and so he asked without preamble,

"What's this about, Admiral?"

"It's about your next mission," he replied. "I wanted to let you know before the formal orders get sent in. I... To be frank, I don't know if Spock being here is a good idea." The Vulcan simply raised an eyebrow, seemingly unperturbed, but Kirk frowned openly and said,

"Whatever it is, sir, Spock can hear it."

"All right," Pike acquiesced, and he sighed. "Your next mission is on a planet called Gabrilis. It was colonized six years ago with a four-year Federation aid contract. The colony has been doing fine by itself so far, but a sudden crop failure has them facing a massive famine."

Kirk's jaw clenched and he glanced away. Spock noted his reaction and was filled with curiosity, but he kept his gaze locked on the admiral's face on the screen.

"What's worse is that the Federation is offering them assistance, but their leader is refusing to be helped," Pike added grimly, and Kirk looked back at him sharply, his face paling.

"Why?" he said curtly, his voice strained, and Spock became quite concerned. This was, for an unknown reason, having a seriously detrimental effect on the captain.

"That's what we can't figure out," Pike sighed. "And that's why you're going there, to try and talk some sense into him." The older man pinched the bridge of his nose, an action that Spock recognized as a common reaction to stress among Humans. "Look, Jim, I tried to talk them out of giving you this mission, but the admiralty was adamant that you're the man for the job. I'm sorry."

"No, don't be, it's..." Kirk said quickly, then swallowed heavily. "...It's fine."

"You'll be getting the formal orders early tomorrow morning," Pike continued carefully. "It'll take you about three days to reach the planet. Try to take it easy, okay? And if you think it's too much for you – "

"No, no," Kirk interrupted. "No, it's... I'll be fine. Don't worry about it."

"...All right," Pike replied, though his expression was one of guarded disbelief. "I just wanted to give you a bit of warning, so that's all I needed to tell you. Good luck."

"Okay," Kirk said slowly. "Thanks for – for letting me know. Kirk out." He turned the commlink off quickly and leaned back heavily in his seat with a deep sigh, closing his eyes. Spock studied him before saying cautiously,

"You are distressed by this mission."

"It's not that, it's just – " he began to protest, then seemed to give up under Spock's disbelieving scrutiny. "...Yeah."

"May I ask why you find it so disturbing?" he asked, and Kirk's expression hardened and he looked away from Spock.

"It's nothing, okay?" he retorted. "It's nothing. Just... don't worry about it." He stood up and took a step towards the door and Spock wanted to question him further – but he remembered once that Kirk had told him that everyone had secrets, had things they did not wish to talk about. This must be one of Jim's secrets, he decided. And Jim had allowed him to keep his own secrets, had not pressured him into speaking of unpleasant things, had trusted him to tell him when he was ready to – so he would show Jim the same courtesy, the same trust. He bowed his head in acquiescence.

Kirk paused in front of the door to the bridge and, looking back at Spock with an unreadable expression, said softly, "Don't tell anyone about this, please."

"...I will speak of it to no one," Spock replied gently, sincerely, and he stepped forward to join the Captain as they walked back onto the bridge.

* * *

They had planned to play chess that evening, but when Spock entered Jim's quarters after he had meditated, the chess board was nowhere in sight and the blond man was standing over his desk, looking down at a PADD with a pained expression.

"Are you well?" Spock asked uneasily and Jim jerked his head up to look at him, startled, as if he had not realized he was there.

"Oh, I – um, yeah, sorry. I'm okay, just... just got a bit distracted there. Sorry." He gave a halfhearted, fleeting smile, then hastily put the PADD away. "You know, I, um, I'm not really feeling like playing chess tonight. That okay with you?" Spock suppressed the urge to raise an eyebrow – Jim had never turned down one of their chess games before. His behavior had been highly unusual after their conversation with Admiral Pike, and Spock was growing concerned.

"That is acceptable to me," he replied carefully. They stood, looking awkwardly at each other for twelve seconds, then Spock ventured, "Have I done something to displease you?"

"What?" Jim spluttered, obviously surprised. "No, no, of course not. Why would you think that?"

"You have been behaving in a most peculiar fashion in the past several hours," Spock explained, feeling slightly relieved that he had not unknowingly caused some sort of offense. "To be honest, I am slightly concerned."

"Oh – oh, that," Jim said sheepishly with a grimace. He pursed his lips. "Look, I... I'm not sure how to put this." He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "This mission has me a little stressed out, is all."

"Which is highly unusual behavior for you," Spock pointed out.

"It's just... It could be dangerous. Starvation can do some scary things to people, you know?"

"Just yesterday morning you were expressing your displeasure at our lack of so-called 'exciting' missions which generally have an element of danger to them, though." Jim frowned and looked away.

"This is different, though," he murmured. "It's okay if it's just dangerous for me, or even the crew, they know what they're getting into. But these are innocent people. Children. I just... I really don't want to talk about it, okay, Spock?"

"I apologize," he relented, knowing he would get no further. "It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable."

"It's okay," Jim sighed, and he took a step closer to Spock. "Hey, come here." Spock joined him in the middle of the room and Jim hugged him, burying his face in the crook of his neck like a small child, and Spock rubbed soft, small circles into his back in a way he had learned was comforting for Humans. After one minute and seventeen seconds Jim lifted his head and kissed along Spock's jaw, and he tilted his head forward so that their lips met. He did not think he would ever understand this Human desire for physical contact as a form of stress relief – but neither did he think he would ever complain of it.

Slowly their soft, gentle kiss became more demanding, their movements becoming more forceful, their breath quickening, their tongues meeting, and when Jim pushed against him he allowed himself to be guided across the room.

It was not until Jim had pushed him onto the bed that he fully grasped the situation and he pulled away quickly.

"Jim, please," he breathed, and slowly Jim relented. He stood guiltily for a moment, catching his breath and running a hand over his face and finally he mumbled,

"Sorry, I.. I just – wasn't thinking. Sorry." Carefully Spock stood.

"I apologize, as well, that I cannot accommodate for your wishes," he murmured faintly, forcing his heartbeat to slow to a normal rate. "It is not as bad as it used to be, perhaps soon..." He trailed off, sounding foolish to his own ears, and Jim's expression did not change.

"No, no, it's my fault," he sighed. "I'm pushing you too hard and I should be more considerate. Sorry."

There was an awkward silence that Jim finally broke by saying sheepishly,

"I, uh, I haven't eaten dinner yet."

"It would be wise of you to eat soon."

"Yeah, I know – you've probably already eaten and meditated and stuff already, huh?"

"I have."

"Yeah, it's late. I'll, uh, go do that, I guess. You don't have to stay." He moved for the door and Spock suppressed a frown.

"I will remain here tonight, if you have no objections," he said quickly. Jim smiled feebly, his expression inexplicably pained.

"Sure," he replied softly. "That's fine." He left quickly, leaving Spock to sit down slowly on the edge of the bed.

Whatever was troubling the Captain was beginning to trouble Spock as well. He very much desired to go to Jim's desk and find the PADD he had been so intently observing when he had entered – but he would not. Jim had respected his privacy, and so Spock would do the same for him. He would show him that same courtesy, and he would not betray the trust he was so grateful to have.

He settled himself onto Jim's bed, burying his face in the pillows. He breathed in deeply, reveling in the familiar smell of cotton and the coconut- and sandalwood-scented shampoo that Jim favored. The comforting scent eased his worry, and for a moment it did not matter to him that he was wrinkling his uniform and likely dirtying the sheets with his boots, and everything else seemed to fade away.

* * *

Spock woke to the sound of Jim shifting restlessly beside him. It was 0432 and he sat up quickly, uncertain. Jim's eyes were closed, his eyelids fluttering in the telltale signs of REM sleep, his face glistening with perspiration and brows furrowed in distress.

"Jim," Spock said, reaching over to shake him gently by his shoulders – a faint tremor of complete and utter fear trickled through the contact in spite of his shields. "Jim, wake up." The younger man only whimpered slightly in response and Spock hesitantly shook him a little harder. "You must wake up."

The extra jolt seemed to be enough and Jim's eyes burst open, red-rimmed and glistening and he sat up quickly with a strangled gasp.

"You were dreaming," Spock murmured as Jim sat there heaving in frantic, unsteady breaths. "You are safe, you were simply dreaming."

"I know," Jim replied faintly, running a hand down his face. "I... I know." He sucked in a deep breath and held it, forcing his heart to stop hammering frantically in his chest. Slowly he leaned back onto his pillows, Spock staring at him blankly.

"Do you wish to talk about it?" the Vulcan asked carefully, remembering the phrase that Jim had often used when he had had nightmares.

"No," Jim replied quietly, shaking his head, and after a moment Spock lay back down, and after a moment longer Jim followed, curling up against the warm Vulcan body with a shaky sigh. They remained this way for one minute and twenty-one seconds.

"You love me, right?" Jim whispered faintly against his skin. The question took Spock by surprise but he replied gently,

"Yes. Do not doubt it, if that is what troubles you."

"Even if I am just some stupid screw-up from a backwater town in the hicks?" he murmured, disbelief evident in his tone. "Even if I'm worse than that?" Spock frowned and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close.

"I do not know why you are suddenly thinking about such things, but I assure you that they are not true," Spock said, and Jim pressed his face into the Vulcan's shoulder.

"Maybe they are," Jim mumbled. "Maybe it's true and you just don't know any better." There was a pause, then Spock said,

"I believe that is a thinly veiled insult to my intelligence." He felt Jim smile against his neck and his worry began to dissipate.

"Sorry," Jim murmured faintly. "I'll go back to sleep now before I insult you any more." Spock pressed a kiss to his forehead as he closed his eyes and cuddled closer, breathing easy and deep as slumber slowly reclaimed him.

* * *

The official mission was already in at the start of Alpha shift the next morning. Kirk pretended to look interested as Uhura read off the description, then bit his lip and said,

"Chekov, plot a course to Gabrilis, effective immediately. Uhura, forward the mission summary to the rest of the crew. Schedule a debriefing with the senior officers and department heads this afternoon."

"Aye, sir," came the replies. He leaned back in his chair with a barely-stifled sigh and Spock studied him quickly. Perhaps it was simply because he was looking for it, but the captain's distress seemed obvious and Spock wondered if the rest of the bridge crew had noticed – Human body language was difficult for him to read, but if he had picked up on it then surely it was readily noticeable to the other Humans. They did not behave as such, however, which was to be expected. Spock looked away and turned his attention back to his station.

"The course is laid in. We will be there in approximately two days and seventeen hours, sir," Chekov announced, and Kirk nodded once in acknowledgment. He hated sitting around waiting, but he knew that that was exactly what they were going to be doing.

Jim was unusually quiet for the next two days, and no matter how much Spock tried to push it away, his concern for the captain only increased as his uneasy, terse silence continued.

He did the only thing he could do – he was with Jim as often as possible. He sat next to him during mealtimes, spent his off hours in the captain's quarters, held him close as they drifted off to sleep. His efforts proved fruitless, though – Jim remained just as pensive and Spock remained just as worried.

Even more worrisome was that Jim continued to wake in the middle of the night in distress. He always declined Spock's offer to discuss the dreams that troubled him, and Spock did his best not to be, as Humans called it, "pushy". He found having to wake Jim from his nightmares and attempt to comfort him to be highly unpleasant as well – he admitted he had no idea how Jim had managed to deal with him in the first weeks of his return. Jim had only chuckled dryly in response, lips pulled up in a haggard smile and eyes clouded in thought.

The day they were scheduled to arrive at Gabrilis, Jim did not eat breakfast. He sat down beside Spock in the mess hall that morning with only a glass of water, eliciting a furrowing of the Vulcan's brows.

"You are not eating," he commented carefully as Uhura and Sulu chatted amicably across from them. Jim only shrugged, eyes downcast.

"I'm not that hungry, I guess."

"You have been eating considerably less than you normally consume in the past twenty-four hours," Spock said. Jim shrugged again, expression sullen. Spock fought down the urge to frown – this was becoming far too ridiculous for his liking.

When he finished his meal, Spock stood and said briskly, "A word, Captain?" Jim shot him an uncertain glance – Sulu and Uhura looked curiously at him as well – but he kept his expression carefully neutral and slowly Jim replied,

"All right, Mr. Spock." The Vulcan led the way out of the mess hall and a few steps down the corridor, then into an empty briefing room. When the doors slid shut behind them, Spock rounded on Jim and demanded,

"Jim, what is going on?"

"Nothing," the younger man snapped defensively.

"That is the same answer you have given to each of my previous inquiries. I attempted to be satisfied with it but it is no longer an acceptable answer," he replied stonily. "Your behavior has been highly uncharacteristic. I have been only concerned for your sake but your refusal to even acknowledge an issue has, to be quite frank, put a strain on our relationship. If I am to endure this any longer, I believe I deserve to know why you are acting in such an immature fashion."

Jim's expression had gone from angry to resentful to subdued throughout Spock's tirade, and he now looked guiltily down at his feet. Spock exhaled heavily through his nose, nostrils flaring, then closed his eyes against the anger that still stewed and struggled to be unleashed – but he would not grow angry, he forced it away, and when he composed himself once more and opened his eyes Jim was looking hesitantly at him, his expression tensely and forcedly neutral.

"I'm sorry," he said slowly, his voice faint. "I just... It's not something I can talk about, okay? You can understand that, can't you, Spock? It's not... It's not that simple." He sighed, looking away. "It's just this mission. I don't know how else to say it. But once this mission is over everything will go back to normal, I promise. Can you just... trust me on this?" He cast an uncertain, almost fearful glance at Spock.

"...I trust you," Spock replied carefully after a slight pause. "I apologize."

"I'm sorry too," Jim muttered. "I know I've been acting like an ass and you don't deserve it. I'd be mad too."

"I am not mad," Spock said, although he knew that was not true and from the look Jim was giving him, he knew it too. "I was merely concerned with your well-being. Your unease has been exceedingly obvious... and rather infectious as well."

"Sorry," the captain mumbled. "We'll get this sorted out. This goddamn mission has me so stressed, that's all..." And, much to Spock's surprise, he stepped forward and leaned into Spock's torso, his head burrowing into the hollow of his neck. Hesitantly Spock wrapped his arms around the smaller man, worry still festering in his chest. "I'm really sorry, Spock. It would be easier... You'd understand if I weren't too chickenshit to talk about it."

"...I am sure you are no such thing," Spock said softly, mulling over the possible meaning of his words. "...We are, however, going to be late for Alpha shift." Jim sighed and slowly pulled away.

"You go on," he said faintly. "They're used to me being late every once in a while. You go, I – I need a minute."

"...All right," Spock relented, then quickly reached over and pressed their fingertips together. "I cherish thee. Do not forget this." Jim smiled weakly, fleetingly, then Spock turned and walked out of the room, his pace characteristically unhurried and calculated, leaving Jim to himself in the empty briefing room.

He took in an unsteady breath and pressed a hand to his temple. He just had to get through the negotiations, he told himself for what felt like the millionth time, that was all he had to do and then he could forget this had ever happened. It was just a stupid mission, it wasn't Tarsus. _It wasn't Tarsus_.

With a sigh, he straightened up, steeled his features into the picture of captaincy, and strode purposefully out into the hallway.

* * *

"Well," Sulu said slowly after the duo had left the table. "That was, uh. Weird."

"Yeah," Uhura replied slowly, keeping her gaze carefully on her breakfast.

They were now the only ones at what had long since become the command crew table. Chekov and Scotty were both down in the bowels of the ship, testing out one of the head engineer's many additions to the engines that he had, for one reason or another, needed the young Russian's expertise for, and so it had just been the four of them at breakfast – until Kirk and Spock had suddenly and peculiarly left. Sulu looked at Uhura appraisingly, then stated confidently,

"You know what's going on, don't you?"

"What?" She shot him a bewildered look. "I have no idea what's going on with them. Kirk's been acting weird for days."

"Oh, come on," he pressed. "You're not fooling me, Lieutenant Queen-of-Gossip."

"I really don't know what their problem is," she insisted, scowling. "Really. I'd certainly like to know."

"So you'd tell me if you knew?"

"What? No!"

"Then how do I know you really don't know?" he retorted with a triumphant grin. "Tell me! Did they have a lover's quarrel? Are we witnessing the aftermath of something juicy? Nyota, if you don't tell me, I'm going to make something up."

"Oh my god. Hikaru, I really don't know. You're being stupid," Uhura retorted, tone dripping with exasperation.

"But they _are_ doing the nasty, right? Can you at least tell me that?" he asked, undeterred. Uhura snorted into her apple juice.

"Hikaru, you have a serious problem. I can't even believe you're thinking about this. Why am I even friends with you?" She shot an unimpressed look at the smirk adorning his features. "One; why would _I_ know that? Two – stop looking at me like that! You may think I know about everyone's personal life, but that doesn't mean I actually do, you idiot."

"Damn," Sulu laughed, finally appearing to give up. "I was hoping for a gossippy breakfast. You're losing your touch, Nyota."

"I can't believe you," she said, suppressing a laugh. "If you want to know that bad, why don't you go ask them yourself, you big wimp?"

"Hey," he retorted with an air of mock seriousness. "Just because I want to stay alive doesn't mean I'm a wimp. I don't think I like you anymore."

"Good, because you are _revolting_ to me," Uhura replied with a grin. Her breakfast finished, she stood to put her tray away and he got up to follow her. They walked together up to the bridge, conversing quietly and continuing to trade friendly insults.

They arrived on the bridge together and Sulu shot her a brief grin as he headed down the steps to his post at the helm. She smiled, then glanced over to the Science station, where Spock was settling into his seat. She detoured over to him, leaning in a bit so he was aware of her presence, then she said in a voice faint enough that only his Vulcan ears would be able to pick it up,

"Just so you know, you guys are getting _really_ obvious."

For a moment Spock was perfectly still, then he turned to look at her with an upraised brow.

"I do not believe I understand your meaning," he replied quizzically – but she only grinned at him and walked away, taking her seat at the Communications console. He watched her leave, then slowly turned back to his own controls. It was then that Kirk arrived on the bridge, stepping out of the turbolift with a faintly grim expression. He met Spock's eyes and his gaze softened marginally, and as he took his seat at the command chair he said with as much cheerfulness as he could muster,

"Good morning, everyone."

He settled into his seat and took a steadying breath amidst the answering murmurs. By the end of the day, he hoped, everything would be better. For now, he only had to wait.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Thanks to all my readers and reviewers! I tried to reply to more reviews this time, but work is still sucking up a lot of my free time so I'm sure I missed a couple - If I didn't reply to your review, please know that I DO read all the reviews I get and I appreciate every single one of them! 3

Next chapter will be up next Saturday.

Comments and critiques are always welcome.

* * *

Chapter Ten

"_So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." _- F. Scott Fitzgerald, _The Great Gatsby

* * *

_

"Maintaining standard orbit over the planet, sir."

"Thank you, Mr. Sulu," came the clipped reply. "Uhura, open up a channel with the colony leader. It's mid-morning on the colony right now so he should answer."

"Yes, sir," she replied, and Kirk stared pensively at the viewscreen as he waited. The planet looked inconspicuous enough – it was similar in coloration to Earth, covered mostly in greens and blues with cloud formations that had a slight yellowish tint to them but otherwise looked like familiar white Earth clouds.

"I've established a connection with the leader of the colony, sir," Uhura announced.

"Patch it through to the viewscreen, Lieutenant," he said tonelessly, his expression tense.

"Remember, his name is Vronsky," she said teasingly, but he frowned at the comment and retorted,

"I _am_ aware of that, Lieutenant." More than a few pairs of eyes shot incredulous looks in his direction – never had he responded so disapprovingly to one of Uhura's joking reminders – but after a brief startled silence, Uhura mumbled,

"Sorry, sir."

The screen flashed for a moment, then a man's face appeared on the screen and Kirk stood to greet him, his expression wary.

"Hello," the man said, looking suspiciously at the captain – he was round of face, looked as though he were fairly heavyset, and seemed to be suffering from male pattern baldness. "To whom am I speaking?"

"This is Captain James T. Kirk of the starship _Enterprise_," he replied. "I'm here on behalf of Starfleet and the Federation. I've been informed that your planet is suffering from a crop failure." The man scowled and Kirk's expression hardened.

"Yes, the Federation said they'd be sending someone," the man sighed. "Well, I'm President Vronsky, so it'll be me you'll be... _negotiating_ with. If you beam down I can meet with you in about one Standard hour."

"Sounds like a plan," Kirk replied darkly. "I'll be beaming down with some others in an hour. We've got your coordinates."

"I see. Farewell until then, Captain."

"Kirk out," he snapped, and he shut off the video feed promptly. "Uhura, I want you, Mr. Spock, whatever diplomatic officer is on duty right now, and two Security men to be ready to go in forty five minutes. Dress uniforms, not casual."

"Aye, sir. I'll let them know." With a sigh, Kirk stood.

"Mr. Spock, you're dismissed. Sulu, you have the conn." And with that, he nearly ran for the turbolift, leaving the command crew glancing in bewilderment amongst themselves – save, of course, for Spock, who watched the Captain's retreat with his usual cool expression before standing and leaving the bridge as well.

* * *

When Jim arrived at his quarters, he immediately stepped into his bathroom, turned on the sink, and scrubbed at his face with the coldest water he could stand. He stared at his visage in the mirror, water dripping from the hair of his eyebrows and his sideburns, his eyelashes damply sticking together, the front of his uniform littered with spots from the water. With a sigh he turned the sink off and stepped back into his quarters, pulling out his dress uniform and draping it over his chair – then sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, and he remained there for a long while, his expression clouded in thought.

His hands trembled in his lap. He shouldn't have accepted this mission. He should have told Pike he couldn't do it, when he still had the chance to back out. Already he felt a distinctly unpleasant mix of crippling dread and burning anger – he knew he was going to fuck up the diplomatic meeting but he couldn't bow out now, it was too late for that. He stilled his shaking hands by pressing his face into his palms, letting out a sound of exasperation that was too close to a whimper for his liking.

And unbeknownst to him, Spock stood on the opposite side of his doorway, Vulcan ears picking up the faint, "_what the fuck am I doing?_" that escaped his lips. Spock stood in front of the door for twelve seconds, brows furrowed and worry burning a painful wound in his abdomen, before he finally turned away and went to his own quarters.

* * *

The group beamed down to the planet to be greeted by a group of three men dressed in suits, all of whom bore the same pinched expression that Vronsky had worn. Kirk glanced quickly at their surroundings – they were in a courtyard in front of a small building that served as the colony's town hall of sorts – then one of the men stepped forward and said dryly,

"President Vronsky is available to speak with you. Come with me." Kirk could only bring himself to nod curtly in reply and followed as the man turned on his heel and led the group into the building. The two Security men following him were looking about suspiciously as they walked. Spock and Uhura, one on either side of him, as well as Commander Ramirez, their diplomatic specialist who was walking behind them, kept their gazes trained ahead as they followed the man leading them down the hallways of the building.

Already Kirk was unsettled. The temperature outside was fairly mild, only a bit on the warm side – yet all the grass in the courtyard had been brown and dead, as though they were in the height of summer. It made no sense, and he was filled with an overwhelming sense of suspicion and distrust.

The man led them into a spacious, sparsely decorated room where Vronsky was sitting at the far end of a long table, and he glanced up as they filed into the room, then slowly stood in greeting. He was just as stocky as he had appeared in the transmission, and his expression was just as uninviting.

"Captain Kirk," he said primly. "Please, sit down." Kirk shot a quick glance at the three officers next to him, then sat down a few seats away from where Vronsky was standing. Spock sat down beside him, and Uhura and Ramirez sat down as well. The two Security men stood behind them, and Vronsky spared them a disapproving glance before sitting back down.

"I'm sure you know why we're here," Kirk began without preamble. "Your colony isn't doing too well. You're on the brink of a mass starvation and you're refusing the aid being offered to you."

"We do not need any assistance," the balding man sneered, and Kirk frowned. "You exaggerate the situation, Captain."

"According to the reports we were sent, that is untrue," Spock interjected. "Are you suggesting that Starfleet's information is inaccurate?"

"I am not," Vronsky replied, and Ramirez interrupted smoothly,

"Sir, we're just trying to understand why you're refusing aid from the Federation."

"Especially when lives are at stake," Kirk snapped, earning him a frustrated look from Uhura that he ignored. "If you allow this to continue, I can guarantee the consequences will be dire."

"Sir – " Ramirez began, only to be ignored.

"We came to Gabrilis to escape the oppression of the Federation," Vronsky declared with a snarl.

"The _oppression_ – we're offering you a _lifeline!_" Kirk exclaimed, chair squealing as he stood up abruptly.

"Captain," Spock said warningly as the room seemed to collectively jump in surprise at his sudden outburst.

"A lifeline that we do not require," the president snapped in reply, and he stood as well. The Security men glanced at each other uncertainly, hands hovering over their phasers, as Ramirez and Uhura attempted to placate the angry men to no avail, their protestations gone unheard.

"You _do_ require it!" Kirk insisted. "If you don't do something, people – innocent civilians, children, will _die_! Don't you understand that?"

"Captain," Spock said again, louder this time, and Uhura added, "Captain, please."

"Their deaths will mean nothing!" Vronsky spat. "Let them die – they're just civilians, second-class citizens – they mean _nothing_!" The room fell silent in shock, and Kirk's features twisted.

"You..." he hissed – and then he lunged across the table, shouting in near-hysterics, "You're as bad as Kodos, you sick bastard, you – !"

He did not get any further, however, for Spock decided that this had gone much too far and, in one fluid movement, stood and grabbed the captain by the shoulder, applying the nerve pinch. The words died on his lips as he promptly collapsed against the Vulcan, his eyes rolling back as Spock effortlessly picked him up. For a moment he studied the captain's face, his features still tensed in rage, with an uncertain expression, then he looked at Vronsky, who had backed away fearfully, and he said curtly,

"I apologize for my Captain's unprofessional behavior." He turned to the Security men, who had drawn their phasers and were now looking uncertainly at the first officer. Spock selected the more muscular individual, and continued, "Ensign Kasica, hold him."

"A-Aye, sir," the man replied, startled, and he reached over to lift Kirk by his underarms, hefting the limp body so that the captain's torso leaned heavily against his shoulder. Spock pulled out his communicator as Ramirez, who seemed to have regained her senses, motioned for everyone to sit back down and for the other Security man to put his phaser away as well.

"Spock to _Enterprise_," he said, and after four seconds an answer came.

"Scott here, sir."

"Mr. Scott, instruct the transporter room to beam up the captain and Ensign Kasica," he instructed, then paused. "Also alert Sickbay that the captain is unconscious."

"He's gone and hurt himself again, I see," he sighed. "Aye, sir, I'll see to it. Scott out." Spock put his communicator away and again turned to the ensign holding the captain.

"You will inform the team from Sickbay what has happened," he instructed simply, and the ensign nodded.

"Aye, sir," he said, and as Spock sat back down beside Uhura, the whirr of the transporter beam filled the room and the ensign and the captain were gone.

"Spock, what _was_ that?" Uhura whispered faintly, and Spock glanced quickly at her, his expression carefully controlled.

"I do not know," he replied, then looked back at Vronsky, who was openly scowling at them now. "However, I believe that there are negotiations to continue."

* * *

When Jim woke groggily, his head was throbbing with pain and he groaned audibly, wondering how the hell he ended up with a hangover – and, as he opened his eyes, how the hell he ended up in Sickbay.

"Oh, you're awake," came a familiar voice, and Jim glanced around, disoriented, until he saw McCoy standing in the doorway.

And then he remembered – and he fell back against the pillows with a frustrated sigh.

"Sounds like you had quite an adventure down there, Captain Kirk," the doctor continued, his tone neutral and careful.

"How long have I been out?" he replied dryly, glaring up at the ceiling.

"About two hours," McCoy answered, and Jim swore under his breath and sat up again.

"I'm beaming back down," he said simply as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

"Oh no you're not," McCoy interjected. "That regulation you're so fond of about emotional compromise? That applies to you too. You attempted to attack the president of Gabrilis – you've been taken off the mission roster. You're not going back down there." The captain made a frustrated noise but sat back against the bed, directing his sullen glare at the wall. McCoy scrutinized him for a moment before continuing,

"Mind telling me why you felt so compelled to attack the Gabrillin president?"

"I'm not telling anything," he muttered.

"Ensign Kasica says you said something about a 'Kodos'," McCoy replied steadily. "I don't suppose you'd like to elaborate on that, either."

"No, I wouldn't."

"I see." McCoy paused for a moment. "Well, now that you're awake, you're free to leave, but you've been ordered off-duty for the next forty-eight hours."

Without bothering to reply, Jim stood up and all but stomped out of Sickbay. McCoy sighed, watching him leave. Maybe the captain refused to talk, but one way or another, he was going to get to the bottom of this.

* * *

A quick search of "Kodos" brought up Kodos the Executioner and the name Tarsus IV. McCoy read the information that came up – and his heart began to sink.

A list of Tarsus survivors proved to be more difficult to find and he ended up having to scour the Starfleet databanks. Luckily his command code was apparently high-ranking enough to allow him access to the list.

Another quick search confirmed exactly what he was afraid of. Number seventy-two on the list: "Kirk, James Tiberius: Captain, USS _Enterprise_".

McCoy put his PADD aside with a heavy sigh. How could he not have known? Why hadn't Jim ever said anything? It was all so – so –

This was all so _stupid_, he realized suddenly. How could he have become so upset as to destroy his friendship with Jim? Compared to this newfound information, his own grievances seemed embarrassingly petty and insignificant. How could he have been so unforgivably _stupid_?

He had to talk to Jim. Now. Before he could talk himself out of it – so he reached for the button of his intercom with an unsteady hand.

"Captain Kirk," he said. He paused and there was no response so he cleared his throat and said a little louder, "Captain Kirk, this is Sickbay. Come in, please."

"Kirk here," came the reply, the captain's voice harsh and uneasy.

"I need you to come back," he replied, and there was a pause.

"Why?" the captain asked sullenly, and McCoy scowled. Nothing was ever easy, was it?

"Something came up on one of your tricorder scans," he lied. "So I need to see you in my office." Another uncertain pause and McCoy was beginning to grow frustrated.

"I'll be there in a minute," he finally muttered. "Kirk out." The connection cut with a hiss of static and McCoy leaned back in his chair with a sigh. He had no idea what to say – but he couldn't back out now. It was too late for that, and he was sure he would sorely regret it later if he didn't at least try to make amends, as late as they were now.

He sat staring pensively at his wall for a few minutes until the door of his office slid open and Jim stepped inside with a miserable expression on his face.

"Lock the door behind you," McCoy said. "I don't want anyone walking in on this." Jim's gaze became vaguely suspicious, but he locked the door and slowly sat down in a chair across from McCoy – not the one he used to always sit in, he noticed, but of course he did not say that.

"Well, let's hear it," Jim muttered. "Am I dying or what?"

"No," McCoy replied slowly, studying the captain's weary face. "I... Well, I lied about that. Wasn't sure how else I could get you down here." Jim's expression turned into a glare and he said curtly,

"You better tell me what this is about. Now." McCoy took a steadying breath before responding,

"I asked you to come here because I want to apologize to you." The suspicion in Jim's gaze did not dissipate in the slightest and the doctor continued lamely, "I... I figured out about Tarsus." Jim stood quickly and all but shouted,

"If you're just doing this out of pity then I sure as hell don't need it – !"

"That's not it – so sit _down_!" the doctor snapped, and slowly the captain sat back down. "It's not about pity, all right? So get that fool notion out of your head now. I'm apologizing because – " He stumbled over his words and scowled, his uneasiness plastered over his face. "...Because I realized what a stupid, selfish ass I've been to you. And I'm sorry."

The doctor's tone was gruff and certainly didn't sound apologetic – but that was how Jim knew he was being sincere. And that certainly caught him more than a little off-guard.

He considered it for a moment, staring at the doctor until the older man looked away uncomfortably. On one hand, he had missed his friend – he missed _Bones_. The man had been his best friend for years, after all – how could he _not_ miss having him around?

But on the other hand was the kind of big deal that McCoy had betrayed his trust and hurt not only him, but Spock as well, and Jim wasn't sure if they could forgive the doctor for that transgression – or if they even should.

"...Look," McCoy muttered, breaking the silence. "I don't expect you to forgive me or to want to be friends again. I understand that. But I do want you to know that, for whatever it's worth, I'm sorry for what I did." Jim swallowed heavily, struggling to come up with a response, and finally managed,

"Well – I appreciate your apology. And..." He trailed off there. And? And what? He forgave him? He wasn't sure if he did. He wanted to be friends again? Maybe – but that seemed too presumptuous, it would take time to become friends, and he wondered if their friendship would ever be the way it was, if he could ever trust the doctor again. "...And, uh... I'm sorry too."

McCoy pursed his lips, obviously as surprised at the utterance as Jim himself was. "Don't be sorry. I would've done the same thing if I were you."

"I... I do want to be friends again. I want to at least try," he blurted suddenly, without thinking. "I never... I never wanted us to not be friends. I wasn't ever asking you to like Spock, just – just accept him. I know you don't like him and I never expected you to." McCoy looked taken aback for a moment, then glanced away.

"I'd like to be friends too," he murmured. "And... I'm sorry I wasn't a better friend, when we were." For a long moment they were silent. "...And, Jim, about this Tarsus thing." Jim glanced quickly at him, his expression suddenly hardening. "Look, I... I understand you were keeping this quiet for a reason, so – so I won't tell anyone. And I'm not gonna ask you anything about it. Just know that if... If you _do_ wanna talk about it – I'm here." Jim's expression softened again and he studied the doctor, who was scowling uncomfortably and blushing slightly, and he managed a faint, fond smile. Maybe they could work things out after all – he allowed himself to dare to hope so.

"...Thanks, Bones."

Bones blinked heavily a few times at the long-unused nickname, his scowl deepening, and he met the captain's gaze.

"...No problem, kid."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Sorry this chapter's a little late! I've been out and about all day and didn't get a chance to post it until now ^^;

**warnings:** there are mentions of sexy times in this chapter, but it's all pretty tame and fade-to-black-ish, so this chapter is still going to be T-rated. But yeah, just wanted to put that out there.

Thanks so much to all my readers and reviewers!

As always, comments and critiques are welcomed!

* * *

Chapter Eleven

"_Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."_ - Emily Bronte

* * *

It was twelve minutes past 1900 ship's time when Spock and the others beamed back aboard the _Enterprise_. Negotiations were nearly finalized and would be completed tomorrow – while Spock could be the most gracious of diplomats, he also was quite adept at getting what he wanted, Uhura had bemusedly observed. Which was definitely good in this case – she reminded herself to send a message to Starfleet about the incompetency of the current president of Gabrilis.

Spock, however, had ceased thinking of the planet and its troubles the moment they were back aboard the ship. The only thing he could think of was Jim – now that his mind was not preoccupied with more pressing matters, he began to reflect on the captain's actions and the only question he could even begin to formulate in response was "why?" It was a question he planned on having answered very soon.

He stepped into his quarters and began taking off his dress tunic, carefully folding it and placing it into the drawer where it belonged. He stood in his thermal undershirt for a moment and considered completely changing his attire, perhaps into his everyday uniform – then determined such a change of wardrobe would be pointless. He pulled off his boots and set them carefully next to his wardrobe before stepping into the bathroom he shared with Jim, took care of his pressing hygienic needs, then, after a moment of hesitation, entered Jim's quarters.

Jim was in the middle of the room, picking up things from the floor – the room was in more disarray than usual, and Spock recognized the things that Jim was picking up as the decorative items that usually adorned his desk, which was peculiarly clear. The sheets of his bed were rumpled and twisted and there was a scuff mark on the opposite wall, as if something had been thrown quite forcefully at it.

"Oh," Jim said, startled, when he walked in. "Jeez, you scared me." He looked around and grimaced. "Uh... yeah, sorry about the mess. I was kind of throwing a tantrum earlier, I guess."

"...I see," Spock replied slowly, and for a moment, seven seconds by Spock's count, they looked silently, uneasily at each other. "...I wish to speak with you. I presume you can deduce why."

"...Yeah, I imagine I can," Jim sighed as he threw an armful of things onto his desk. "You're pissed at me, I know."

"I am no such thing," Spock replied with a raised eyebrow. "I am, however, experiencing much confusion. I do not wish to admonish you, though your behavior was deserving of a reprimand. I only wish to understand why you took the actions you did."

Jim studied him for nine seconds with an expression Spock could not read, then finally sighed and murmured, "It's... It's complicated, Spock. I don't know how to explain. I don't know if I even _can_."

"...I do not understand," Spock said simply after considering the meager explanation. "Why can you not simply explain why you felt the need to attack President Vronsky?" Jim frowned, his eyes downcast.

"Because I don't want you to know," he said faintly, voice barely above a whisper. "Because – because things will be different if you know and I don't want things to change with us, Spock."

"Jim," Spock said gravely. "I guarantee that whatever it is will not make me think any less of you."

Jim did not respond to that, and they lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. After twenty-two seconds, Jim licked his lips and said, very softly,

"We should sit down." Spock complied and seated himself in the chair behind the desk, pulling it up so he was facing Jim, who had sat down heavily on the edge of his unmade bed.

"You should know," he murmured, more to himself than to Spock. "You really deserve to know, so – I'm gonna try and tell you. I'll try, okay?"

"...That is all I ask," Spock replied carefully, wondering what Jim's words meant and how best to respond to Jim's unusual and rather distressing behavior.

For nine seconds Jim sat with his head lowered, breathing slowly as if to compose himself, then carefully he raised his head and met Spock's eyes, his expression pained.

"Do you... know anything about Tarsus IV?" he asked quietly, his tone forcedly even. Spock pressed his lips together, his mind already racing – and he was not particularly liking the conclusions he was reaching.

"I do," he replied just as calmly. "In 2246, the colony of Tarsus IV was struck by a fungus that destroyed the colony's crops, resulting in a mass famine." Jim had cast his gaze away again and Spock studied him, his expression, his reaction, as he continued, "And the Governor Kodos ordered the deaths of approximately half of the colony in order to save the other half that he deemed superior. That is what I know of Tarsus IV." He fell silent as Jim took another slow, heavy breath.

"...The revolution is successful, but survival depends on drastic measures," he whispered, his eyes locked on the floor. "Your continued existence represents a threat to society. Your lives mean slow death to the more valued members of the colony. Therefore... I have no alternative but to sentence you to death. Your execution is so ordered, signed... Kodos, Governor of Tarsus IV."

"That was his declaration to his victims," Spock said. Jim nodded silently and for twelve seconds neither of them spoke – then, slowly, Jim lifted his head and looked at Spock, his eyes dark compared to their usual luster.

"...I was on Tarsus IV, Spock," he said, almost inaudibly. "I... I was fourteen. I was living with my aunt and uncle, and... They were on the execution list. I wasn't, but I couldn't – couldn't live with the others when my own family had been killed. So I – I gathered up a group of kids who had managed to escape in the chaos and we camped out in the wilderness until... until Starfleet arrived."

Spock slowly leaned back in his seat and Jim licked his lips and closed his eyes before continuing unsteadily, "I wasn't the oldest but I took care of them. I knew what I was doing and I did what I could but – we started with a group of sixteen. We ended with eleven. Two starved and three were shot. And I... I had killed nine people by the time we were rescued. All Kodos' men, but nine people." He looked over at Spock for the first time in his speech and said softly, "Pike knew who I was in that bar not because he idolized my dad but because he was on the starship that saved us."

For twenty-eight seconds they were both silent. Spock was not sure how to describe his reaction – the thought of Jim surviving such a horrendous ordeal at such a young age filled him with anger and despair and a whole slew of emotions he had no name for, and he struggled to keep it from showing on his face.

"...I see," he finally managed. "I... am sorry." To his surprise, Jim's expression hardened, and the younger man stood up and walked to the other side of the room.

"Don't be sorry," he replied, his tone cold. "It's pointless to be sorry. I was fourteen. I'm over it."

"I do not think I believe that," Spock replied slowly, and Jim rounded on him with a glare. "If you were, as you say, 'over it', I doubt you would have acted as you did today."

"Oh, shut up," Jim growled, expression suddenly twisting cruelly. "You think you know and you don't – you don't know anything, you couldn't understand!" Spock flinched at the anger spewing from his words but kept his tone carefully calm as he replied,

"I apologize for angering you; I assure you it was not my intention. I am... rather overwhelmed. I do not know how to respond to this, Jim."

Jim's posture visibly wilted and his anger seemed to evaporate instantly as he murmured,

"I know, sorry, I... I know. I've never told anyone because of that – because it's too much for people." He sighed heavily and looked away. "It's a lot of baggage that I'm sure you don't want to deal with, so... so you can get out now before things get too serious. I understand." Spock's eyebrows darted up in shock as the meaning of Jim's words processed and he stood up quickly.

"Are you suggesting that I should terminate our relationship?" he asked, bewildered.

"Yes," Jim forced himself to reply.

"Jim," Spock breathed, voice trembling as if he were in physical pain, and he reached hesitantly out to touch Jim's shoulder. "Jim, the thought never even... I never once considered this a reason to leave you. I will do no such thing." Jim let out a bitter laugh that sounded more like a strangled cry, shaking his head.

"You say that now," he said darkly. "But once it sinks in how fucked up I am, you're going to be running. Please, it would be easier if we just got it over with now."

"I will do no such thing."

"For fuck's sake, Spock, I killed _nine people _– I hoarded food until I was twenty! You saw what happened today – you know I'm fucked up and, and..." He trailed off, eyes glistening, and he forced himself to finish. "...and you deserve someone – better. Someone good for you, not someone like me."

Spock's heart stuttered and beat a frantic hummingbird-wing beat against his side as he pulled Jim's shoulder to force the younger man to look at him.

"I will remind you that I am a survivor of a massacre as well, and a recent one at that," he said vehemently. "You have remained with me in spite of – of what I did to you in my Pon Farr; do you really think me so below you as to leave you for something in your past when you have been so forgiving to me? I will not leave you, Jim. I cannot. There is no one 'better' for me than you."

"Yeah?" Jim replied slowly as they stared uneasily at each other, suspicion still heavy in his tone. "Prove it."

"Tell me how and I will do so," Spock replied, brows knitted together in near-desperate determination. Jim glanced about nervously, as if he was suddenly unsure how to respond.

"Have – make love to me," he said finally, face coloring as he said it. "I know that for Vulcans that means you're serious. Make love to me and I know you're in it for the long haul." He could tell immediately that Spock was uneasy, but the Vulcan met his gaze solidly.

"Jim, you know that it is not that I am not serious," he replied slowly, his carefully neutral tone betraying the turmoil that Jim's proposal had elicited. "You know why we have not consummated our relationship."

"Yeah, I do," Jim said fervently, his expression tensing. "Because you're scared, scared you'll hurt me – but you know what? Spock, I just told you something I've never told anyone in my whole _life_, and I was fucking terrified. And I'm still terrified. I need you, Spock."

Spock could not bring himself to respond – what could he say? He knew Jim had needs, emotional ones he did not really understand, not completely – but needs that were legitimate and real, and how could he deny him that? He was still filled with panic at the thought of hurting Jim – again, the way he had – but now he wondered what would hurt Jim more, action or inaction, and he was not certain in the slightest.

Slowly Jim stepped closer to him, sensing his distress, and carefully – experimentally, even – he kissed along Spock's jaw.

"Let me be in control," he murmured against the pulse point on his throat. "Just sit back and enjoy the ride, you know? You can't hurt me that way. I promise."

Spock began to feel as though he were being manipulated – but in this case he honestly did not care. He was quite certain that for Jim, he could live through any manipulation without complaint.

"Yes," he whispered faintly, pulling the Human's body closer to his own, and Jim needed no further encouragement.

They were half-naked on Jim's bed when suddenly the Human paused and sat up breathlessly.

"Wait, wait," he said, glancing about the room as Spock looked quizzically at him from beneath his body. "Shit – Computer, lock the doors." The locks clicked in response and with a faint grin he looked back over at Spock and added, "Lights to ten percent."

* * *

Spock was about to fall asleep. He was lying on his back, Jim's torso atop his and the younger man's head resting on his shoulder, and their lack of clothing was making him more than a little cold, but he was drowsy and relaxed and peaceful. After the events of the day, that was enough to put him to sleep – but then Jim stirred against his neck and lifted his head.

"I thought of something," he said suddenly, and Spock pursed his lips.

"I am surprised you are still awake," he said dryly, but Jim did not even seem to hear him as he said,

"When Vulcans, you know, do it – don't you guys usually do that mind meld thing, too?" Jim studied him earnestly and Spock hesitated visibly.

"...That is a common practice, yes," he replied carefully, glancing away.

"Meld with me," Jim said insistently, propping himself up on his elbows.

"You do not know what you are asking," Spock answered sharply, and Jim's eyes widened in surprise at the vehemence of the Vulcan's tone. He paused, uncertain, then ventured,

"Then... Explain it to me. So that I do know. Please?"

Spock reached over and pulled the sheets up over their bare bodies, resigning himself to the conversation. Jim shifted and pressed closer to him, allowing Spock to wrap them in a cocoon of blankets. He watched the Vulcan with a patient expression, in spite of his own (very impatient) curiosity, and when Spock seemed to deem them adequately comfortable, he steadily met Jim's gaze.

"If I were to meld with you," he said slowly, carefully selecting each word. "It would very likely create a mental bond between the two of us. It would be a weak bond and likely a... clumsy one, for lack of a better term, due to the differences in our mental composition. It is something I believe you would not desire, because once formed, it is nearly permanent. While it is not as strong nor as resilient as a true marriage bond would be, it would still be strong enough that only a Vulcan healer could sever it."

For a moment Jim studied him silently, his brows furrowed, then he asked,

"Why would you think I wouldn't want that, Spock?" Spock raised an eyebrow, surprised. Did he really not understand?

"Humans generally are adverse to the idea of such permanency," he explained hesitantly. "This is why Earth has had the system of renewable marriage contracts set in place for so long. The Vulcan bond is for life, and Humans generally do not mate for life. Judging from your past inclinations to promiscuity, I had assumed you would have such a mindset."

"_What_?" Jim said incredulously. "Spock, do you – do you really think I would have done all this – done _everything_ – if I wasn't serious about you? About us?"

"I do not doubt that you are serious," he replied calmly. "What I do doubt is that you will always be so. Jim, it does not bother me. I understand that the permanency of the Vulcan bond is undesirable to most Humans." Jim looked suddenly offended, and Spock was bewildered. Had he inadvertently said something offensive? He did not think he had, but Jim's silence was unsettling.

"Look," Jim said finally, looking up at him earnestly. "You're probably gonna think I'm being stupid, but – but I want to be with you forever, Spock. I know that the stuff I've done in my past isn't helping my case, but... but it's the past, Spock, and now is different. I don't know how to explain it. But now... Now, I can't imagine ever wanting to be with anyone else. I _want_ that permanency, Spock. I feel like it should scare me but it doesn't. I want it."

And Jim meant it, all of it. He knew he didn't have a good track record as far as serious relationships went. He knew he had always imagined himself metaphorically "settling down" with some pretty petite blond girl, just the way he liked them – and he knew that Spock wasn't any of those things. But it didn't matter. He wanted Spock more than he had ever wanted anyone – no, he _needed_ Spock. Needed to be with him, always. And it didn't make sense to him, but he knew it was the truth. He had learned that the hard way.

Spock remained silent, staring with wide eyes at the grave sincerity Jim looked back at him with.

He had thought he had been beyond lucky that Jim had forgiven him for the disaster that had been his Pon Farr. He had thought he was the luckiest being alive when Jim had wanted to be in a romantic relationship with him – and he had settled himself with the fact that because Jim was not only Human, but because Jim was _Jim_, it would not be a permanent fixture. He had been content to enjoy the time they did have, and he told himself he would let Jim go when the Human desired it. He had not expected any more of their relationship.

Of course, Jim had always managed to shock him to his core.

"...You understand that you have, in effect, asked me to marry you," he finally managed to respond. Jim's expression did not change, but his eyes brightened in a reigned-in smile.

"Yeah, Spock, I do," he said softly, and Spock exhaled heavily. He pursed his lips and leaned back slightly, eyes darting about in the darkness, and Jim watched him in bemusement. Finally Spock seemed able to face him again. "...I see," he managed, and Jim grinned. "Get comfortable. We will have little sense of time in the meld, so you must be comfortable." He complied without question, laying back on his pillows as Spock sat up to loom over him – so Jim leaned up to kiss him thoroughly. Might was well, he figured, and Spock certainly did not complain, reciprocating in earnest.

After Jim pulled away, Spock gazed down at him for six seconds, hardly daring to believe that this man could desire to spend the rest of his life with him.

"You are sure that this is what you want?" he asked as he trailed his knuckles along Jim's cheek. The Human smiled up at him.

"Yes," he replied simply, fervently, and it was enough for Spock. His fingers settled easily against Jim's meld points and, their eyes locked, Spock murmured the traditional Vulcan words – "_my mind to your mind_" – and slipped effortlessly into Jim's thoughts.

They had melded before, on three separate occasions, but only ever on a superficial level, to transmit vital information quickly and silently – and so the ease with which Spock entered the more intimate parts of Jim's mind was surprising, to say the least.

And then their consciousnesses met in a burst of light and color, and everything suddenly made sense.

"_T'hy'la_," he thought, feeling more than overwhelmed – and the word must have reverberated between them because he felt Jim respond with a rush of curiosity and an unfiltered babble of,

"What is _t'hy'la_, what does that mean, I don't understand, Spock." Spock forced himself to focus – this lack of stable visual aid was difficult for Jim to adjust to and so he shifted carefully, and then he was standing across from Jim, who looked at him with an enthusiastic and bewildered expression.

"Where are we?" he asked, looking around, not noticing how Spock still seemed to be reeling. "Whoa – is that – you? And that's me?"

Spock looked. The sky above them was painted in a multitude of colors, and Spock was standing on red desert sands across from Jim who stood on lush green grass.

"Yes," he replied. "This landscape is a representation of ourselves." And then he looked closer.

They were perfect complements of each other. For every streak of blue, purple, and red in the sky behind him that was himself, the colors were mirrored perfectly in the orange, yellow, and green streaks in Jim's sky.

"Spock!" Jim exclaimed, reaching for him. "Spock, you're crying..." Brilliant white sparks burst from where they touched. "What's _t'hy'la_, Spock?"

Spock composed himself. He gestured at their surroundings, pulling Jim close as he did so – their bodies began to melt together but neither seemed to notice.

"Look," he said reverently. "Every color of my being is complemented in your own. We are in perfect balance. This is... This is why you felt so strong a desire to be with me. We are t'hy'la. We belong together."

"Is that what it means?"

The sky began to glow softly.

"It is like the Human concept of a soulmate, but it can be proven in a way a 'soulmate' cannot, through mental compatibility like this. The closest Standard translation would be friend, brother, and lover."

"T'hy'la," Jim breathed, and his pronunciation was perfect without the clumsy Human mouth holding him back.

"I wish to show you something," Spock whispered, and suddenly the landscape melted away and they were floating in space with stars twinkling about them. Spock reached over and plucked the largest, brightest star out of the sky, cradling it in his hands as it glowed even more vividly like a tiny silver sun. "This is my love for you." Gently he placed it in Jim's hands.

"This isn't fair," Jim murmured as he held the shining globe of light. "You can do all this cool stuff and I can barely tell up from down."

"I can take away the visual element, if you wish," Spock replied softly. "It will only be the exchange of thoughts and emotions then. We will be 'even', as you say." Jim smiled at him and the star in his hand sparkled even brighter.

"Do it," he said, and so Spock did.

Everything faded away – and suddenly Jim was flooding him with a torrent of need and adoration and love, and so he responded in turn and the emotions increased in intensity every time until words were accompanying them, basic unfiltered words too close to the heart to be decorated with flowery speech, and after a while of this their words melted together, one voice indistinguishable from the other.

_Love love love, love you, love you more than anything, more than anyone, you you you, only you, only you can make me this happy, make me feel this way, never want anyone but you, love you, need you, need you need you never leave me I need you need need need..._

And in the end it was too much and Spock pulled his mind away from Jim's before he could be pulled any further into its dangerous siren song with a gasp – and with a sob Jim threw his arms around the Vulcan's torso, pulling him down and burying his face in his shoulder.

"I love you," he cried as Spock held him tightly, running a hand through his hair. "I love you so much, don't ever leave me. I was so scared you'd leave me, Spock, promise you'll never leave, I love you too much."

"I promise I will never leave you," Spock vowed, his own eyes prickling with tears as Jim sniffled and hiccuped into his shoulder. "T'hy'la. I love you, Jim, and I will never leave you."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Hey everyone! Sorry that this chapter's a little late.

Updates might start being more sporadic in the near future, between work and a full schedule at school I'm not sure how much time I'm going to be able to devote to this. I'm so sorry! I'm going to try hard to keep updates on a regular schedule, but I can't make any promises. So please bear with me and I'll keep doing what I can :(

**warnings:** there is some non-explicit sex in this chapter.

As always, comments and critiques are welcomed and appreciated!

* * *

Chapter Twelve

"_[He] believed in the green light, the orgiastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter – tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther… And one fine morning – " _- F. Scott Fitzgerald, _The Great Gatsby

* * *

_

Spock woke with Jim pressed flush against him, much in the same manner as he did nearly every morning. The major difference between those instances and that moment was the fact that they were both very naked. His arm was around Jim's torso, one hand splayed across the Human's stomach, and he ran his fingers absentmindedly through the sprinkling of hair that grew there, feeling the strong muscles beneath his skin, the tactile sensations sending faint tingles through his arm.

Part of him could still scarcely believe he was with Jim. The rest of was too in love to think as logically as he knew he should be, too in love in care.

He proceeded to wake Jim in a most unrefined manner (namely, with his hand between the captain's legs while pressing warm kisses to his neck as the smaller man writhed against him), which only added to the evidence of their passions that was the mess on their sheets (and their bodies – Spock had not quite expected things to be so... _messy_). So, now that they were both quite awake and quite in need of cleansing, they made their way to the bathroom and clambered into the shower together. To save water, of course. And if, during the course of their shower, they ended up frotting desperately against each other – well, that was unintentional, of course. Of course.

"You... you horny fucking bastard," Jim said breathlessly, slumped against the shower wall, Spock's body pressed against his being the only thing holding him upright.

"Pardon?" Spock replied, panting into his damp hair.

"Jesus christ, Spock, you came, like, _four_ times last night, and now – I don't know how you do it."

"...Ah. You are not aware," he murmured with a lift of his eyebrow, and Jim raised an eyebrow back. "Vulcan males are not limited by a refractory period the way Human males are."

"Seriously? How?"

"You orgasm with your body, which has its limits," Spock said, his hands trailing lazily across Jim's chest with his eyes steadily meeting the younger man's bright blue gaze. "Vulcans orgasm with their mind, which is not limited in the way the body is."

"...Fuck," Jim replied, eyes wide and his expression rather envious.

"We can choose to orgasm with the body as well, of course," Spock continued slowly. "But mental orgasms are generally superior to their physical counterparts, and so intercourse for pleasure can continue indefinitely."

"Oh my god shut up. I was already jealous enough, you jerk," Jim growled in response, pushing playfully against Spock's chest, causing water to splatter between them and run down his face in clear rivulets.

"Then let me show you," Spock murmured, stepping closer to Jim and nipping gently against the skin between his shoulder and collarbone, dragging his fingers along the side of his face. His voice was a low rumble in Jim's ear. "Let me show you, t'hy'la." A slow grin spread across Jim's face and he teased,

"This is like giving heroin to a junkie, you know. We are _never_ going to be able to get out of here."

"Is that a yes or no?" Spock merely replied, and he pressed insistently against Jim, grinding their hips together in a not-so-subtle hint that he wanted the answer to be "yes". Jim laughed.

"You are way the hell more sexual than I would've thought," he murmured, and he kissed Spock. "Lucky for me. Do it. Show me."

It ended up being a good thing that a.) they were in the shower to muffle their noise, and b.) that the walls of the _Enterprise_ were quite thick – because, as it turned out, Jim was considerably louder this time around than he had been before. But Spock was fairly certain that this was a good thing, and so did not complain.

* * *

Luckily the planet Gabrilis was several standard hours behind the _Enterprise_'s time, so Spock did not need to leave until noon ship's time. The duo kept their free hours quite occupied, then Jim helped Spock into his dress uniform (not that he needed any help, as it was immaculate as always) and kissed him goodbye. It was promising to be a good day.

Jim sauntered into the officer's mess hall with a faint grin after Spock had left the ship. He was hungry as hell, since he had been a bit too distracted to bother himself with dinner the night before or breakfast that morning. He piled his tray with food – a sandwich, a bowl of soup, and a bowl of mixed vegetables that he hadn't wanted but his diet card demanded he include – and caught sight of McCoy sitting across the room, his back turned to the captain. He hesitated for a moment, then walked over to join the doctor.

"Hey," he said with a slight grin, sitting across from the older man. McCoy glanced quickly at him, surprise skittering across his features, then he said in his usual grumpy tone,

"Your diet card says you skipped breakfast."

"Oh, that," Jim replied, and he chuckled, a grin spreading across his features once more. "I was kind of distracted this morning, I guess. I'm really hungry now though."

"Of course you are," McCoy grumbled. "With a metabolism like yours I'm surprised you're not emaciated already from skipping a meal." They both paused, and McCoy realized too late the awkward ground he was treading and hastened to move on. "What's got you in such a good mood?"

"I dunno," Jim replied brightly over a mouthful of his pastrami sandwich. "Had a good start to the day, I guess."

"Yesterday still botherin' you?" McCoy asked. His tone was still casual but Jim began to feel awkward. Up until yesterday he had all but hated the man, and slipping so easily back into their friendly rapport was not an easy transition. Hell, had he even told Spock about his conversation with Bones? He was pretty sure he hadn't. Whoops.

"...No, I'm fine," he said carefully, his gaze darting uncertainly between the doctor and his sandwich. "Got some stuff off my chest, you know?"

"...Yeah," McCoy replied, with just as much trepidation, as if he had realized Jim's sudden discomfort. "...Well, good. I'm glad."

They continued on through their meal in silence. It was not an entirely friendly silence, but it was not an uncomfortable one, either. After a little while McCoy stood, his plate cleared, and he began to walk away, then paused.

"Jim," he said. The captain glanced up at him quickly, startled, his spoonful of soup spilling onto his tray. "...Thanks for sitting with me. I appreciate the company."

"...Sure thing, Bones," he replied slowly, smiling cautiously. McCoy hesitated visibly, glancing away with a scowl.

"One more thing," he said gruffly, then he leaned down a bit to say in a hushed tone, "Learn to use the dermal regenerator in your damn medkit. Everyone who's walked by has been staring at that fatass hickey on your neck." Jim clapped a hand over his neck, eyes bulging – at least he had the decency to look embarrassed, McCoy thought – and his face reddened as he remembered exactly how that hickey had come into existence.

"I don't even want to know," McCoy sighed.

"Thanks for letting me know. I guess," Jim muttered, huddling over his bowl of soup.

"That's what friends are for," the doctor snapped, and Jim chuckled dryly.

"Hey," he said. "Are you playing poker with us on Friday?" For a moment the doctor looked surprised, and he pondered the query for a long moment, his lips pursed and his brow furrowed. Finally, he answered,

"Well, I suppose I am now."

* * *

Four hours and twenty-seven minutes later, Spock and the diplomatic team beamed back aboard the _Enterprise_. The negotiations had gone as well as Spock had anticipated, but this was not the reason that contentment hummed through his senses.

When they had been apart, Spock had felt their faint bond stirring to life. It was weak and likely more unstable than not – but he had _felt_ it, had felt _Jim_ in his mind, a soft glowing bundle at the back of his head. After a little longer he had been able to feel which direction he was located – far above in orbit over the planet, yet Spock was sure he would have been able to point exactly to the _Enterprise_ even from the planet's surface.

And then, perhaps the most wondrous of all, he had tentatively reached out to touch the glow of Jim's presence and felt what he was experiencing – a quiet, calm feeling interspersed with hazy, seemingly random images – and he had known that Jim was asleep and dreaming.

In light of this marvelous discovery, Spock was finding it to be more than a bit of a challenge to keep his features and body language as neutral as usual as he stepped down from the transporter pad. Uhura cast him a curious look, but he simply thanked the transporter tech and made his way out into the hallway towards his quarters.

Now that he was in closer proximity to his bondmate – his _bondmate_, he thought with a thrill of wonder, _his bondmate_ – he could feel Jim with even more clarity – what had been a soft glow before was a warm, brilliant light now, and his body traveled of its own accord, as if that light were a homing beacon pulling him closer and closer to his t'hy'la. He could feel Jim's thoughts now – could feel that the man was surprised and curious and guardedly happy.

Finally he was in the hallway, almost there, and as he passed by Jim's doorway the door slid open and Jim himself stepped out to greet him, eyes wide and immediately finding Spock's gaze with a faint grin. They paused and studied each other for a moment, and Spock was sure Jim knew what was going on, too.

"...Welcome back, Mr. Spock," he finally said faintly. "I'd like to speak with you. Come inside." Spock acquiesced with a nod of his head and he followed the Captain inside, neither of them noticing the curious glances from the passing crewmen.

The moment the door slid shut behind them, Jim whirled around to face Spock with an expression of pure awe and he said breathlessly,

"I _felt_ you! Spock, I could feel you coming on the ship and getting closer – is that – are we – ?"

"I felt your presence in my mind as well," Spock murmured, stepping closer to the smaller man and taking his hands in his own, joy buzzing through their contact, and Jim pulled Spock's hands to rest over his chest, his heart, his near-reverent expression mirrored in Spock's features. "It is a bond – weak, but it is there."

"I love you," Jim breathed, and he threw himself into Spock's arms. The Vulcan smiled slightly into the captain's hair tickling his chin and they stood this way, unmoving, for thirty-three seconds.

"At the first opportunity we will visit New Vulcan and have the bond strengthened and formalized into a full marriage bond by a healer," Spock murmured, and Jim looked up at him and smiled radiantly.

"Well, let's hope we can get our next shore leave somewhere in the vicinity," he replied, and he leaned up and kissed Spock.

"Indeed," Spock murmured in agreement after he had pulled away. The bond glowed with happiness and quietly they basked in its warmth.

* * *

The _Enterprise _pulled out of orbit of Gabrilis the next day, fifteen minutes into Alpha shift, their duty done. Formal negotiations had been finalized and Starfleet had assured them that the Gabrillin government would be stepping down soon. The Captain's chair was once again occupied by Jim's jaunty, cheerful visage, which seemed to surprise the bridge crew – the story of his outburst on the planet had spread across the ship like wildfire, but truthfully it seemed like a distant, hazy memory to Jim. Although, he _was_ a little bit glad to be gone from the unlucky planet – just a little bit. He could feel the bond brighten with a mental laugh from Spock – or, at least, it _felt_ like a laugh. He wasn't sure how else to describe the thread of amusement coated in affection, but either way his grin only widened and the crew cast uncertain glances amongst themselves, wondering if the captain had finally gone off the proverbial deep end.

The fact that they had finally gotten a decent mission contributed to his good mood, too, of course. The orders had just come in that morning – they were heading out into the Orion-Federation border to check in with a few colonies and inspect a few planets – which meant away missions, which meant potential danger, which meant excitement. Spock had not been so amused with that thought, but Jim didn't mind.

As for Spock, he appeared to be his usual calm self, but for those who knew what to look for (namely, Jim and Uhura) could tell he was quite pleased. Jim's presence in his mind was all but indescribable – he delighted in every wayward emotion and stray thought from Jim's untrained mind that wandered through the bond, because it meant that he and Jim were together, were one, were _t'hy'la. _The fact that theirs was still only a weak, rudimentary bond made him all but giddy with excitement wondering what it would be like when they were properly bonded by a healer, joined forever as one entity in two bodies. He could not bring himself to even want to reign in his happiness. Luckily no one seemed to pay him any undue attention, so at least he was not obvious.

Uhura glanced surreptitiously between the two, a half-smile quirking on her lips. Whatever was going on with them was making them unbearably happy, and in spite of her curiosity she was utterly tickled by their lovesick grins even as they went about their daily routines, and she had to wonder how no one else seemed to have figured them out yet.

After dinner, Jim walked into Spock's quarters to find him sitting on the floor meditating. The bond was quiet and calm, and Jim had wondered if Spock had fallen asleep because it certainly felt that way – but meditation explained it, and for a few minutes Jim simply stood studying the serene figure before him, and he smiled to himself. Why had he ever been so wary of commitment, so fearful of falling in love? Even just _looking_ at Spock now filled him with so much joy – how could he have ever not wanted this for himself? Yet part of him was glad he had never let himself fall in love before – he couldn't imagine being in love with anyone but Spock, couldn't imagine having discovered such happiness with anyone but the quiet, gentle Vulcan. He stifled a chuckle. Spock really was the exception to every rule he'd made for himself, but that was just another reason to love him.

Spock's eyes slid open and his gaze instantly latched onto Jim's. They were silent for several seconds, then Jim smiled and Spock's gaze softened and he stood up. Their hands met and the link glimmered with the contact, affection and happiness flooding through both ends. Jim pressed a kiss to Spock's lips and mumbled,

"I love you. More than anything." Spock did not reply with words – instead, Jim was drenched in a deluge of love and adoration from the bond and he smiled even broader, entwining their fingers.

He began to speak, then hesitated, and he felt Spock wondering "what?" and saying softly into their link, "speak." Both words were filled with warmth and he chuckled.

"You have _got_ to show me how to do all that fancy stuff," he laughed. Spock pressed their foreheads together and said softly,

"What did you wish to say to me?"

Again Jim hesitated. "I, uh. I talked to Bones the other day," he muttered, pulling away slightly. Nothing came from the bond, so he licked his lips and continued, "He... apologized, and we talked stuff out, I guess."

"I am pleased you have regained your friendship," Spock replied, his tone neutral, the bond still silent in Jim's mind.

"Also, uh, he... He kind of found out about the whole Tarsus thing. I didn't tell him, I meant it when I said I've never told anyone but you, but he just... figured it out. I guess."

"Why are you telling me this?" Spock inquired, honestly curious, his voice lacking in any anger or malevolence that Jim was afraid of. He grimaced and shrugged.

"So you don't find out later from someone else and think I'd been keeping it from you on purpose, I guess," he muttered. "Or, I don't know, so you wouldn't get jealous." Spock raised an eyebrow, and Jim mumbled, "And, um. There's something else."

"Say whatever is on your mind," Spock said reassuringly, projecting a sense of calm into Jim's uncertain mind. "You need not hide anything from me." Jim sighed and leaned closer into the Vulcan's chest.

"I wanted to – to show you. Tarsus," he finally said hurriedly. "Through a meld. I can do that, right?" Spock pursed his lips, and the calm shifted into concern.

"That is possible, yes," he replied slowly. "Jim, you do not need to. I would not wish for you to force yourself through unpleasant memories against your will."

"It's not against my will. I want to show you, I really do," he replied vehemently. "But – if you don't want to, I understand, it's – some pretty heavy stuff, so – "

"I will listen to whatever you wish to tell me," Spock interrupted, his gaze suddenly turning fevered and intense. "Do not ever doubt that it is you whom I care for the most, Jim. Do not worry about me."

"I want to show you," Jim repeated softly, and slowly Spock nodded in acceptance.

"Sit," he replied, stepping away to gesture at the abandoned meditation mat. He cleared away the incense, still filling the room with its heady, bittersweet scent, and Jim sat down cross-legged on the mat, adopting the position Spock always sat in. The Vulcan then joined him, and they sat so that their knees touched. Jim leaned in a bit towards him, and Spock lifted his hand halfway between them, then paused.

"You will have to imagine very clearly what it is you wish for me to see," he explained slowly, then amended, "Or remember, in your case. If at any point you wish to cease, simply say so and I will end the meld."

"Okay," Jim replied, his voice soft.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

Spock gently placed his hand against the side of Jim's face, his fingers falling easily onto the Human's meld points. He took a steadying breath and murmured the traditional words – "_My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts._" – and slipped into Jim's mind.

For a moment everything was dark, then Jim's voice thought hesitantly at him _how should I do this, just jump right in or what?_

_ Whatever is easiest for you, t'hy'la, _Spock thought back. The Human's hesitance ebbed, then the darkness faded away into an image of a small house made of wood and brick in a field of yellow-green grass against a dusty blue sky. It smelled vaguely like fresh-cut wheat, which Spock had never smelled before, but Jim provided all the sensations.

_This is where we lived_, Jim narrated as images of the interior of the house flashed by. _My aunt and uncle and I... We lived here for about six months before the famine hit. _Immediately the quaint image of the house was replaced by the house being swarmed with soldiers, dragging away a man and a woman as a young screaming Jim struggled against another soldier trying to load him into a hovercar. _I was taken to the colony's capital where a bunch of kids like me were being kept, whose families were executed but they were smart enough to stick around. We were kept in the government buildings and we had meals with Kodos three times a week, he liked to have us around, it reminded him of how noble he thought he was._ Spock looked through a young Jim's eyes at the building he lived in and the table where they dined with Kodos, ornately decorated and lavishly loaded with food that wasn't supposed to exist. Jimandspock looked over at the head of the table where Kodos himself sat, dressed in his finery, a smile on his sallow, pinched features, and disgust bubbled in their chest.

They scowled openly and spoke out of turn and finally started shouting and Kodos had them get up and walk to stand before him, the governer's features twisted in distaste, and in his anger he threw a goblet of red wine at their face and they stood there dripping in the liquid and their nose began to bleed, the pain unnoticed for all their anger and humiliation and pure blinding hate, and they wiped their nose once before being dragged away by two guards, the blood on their hands a bright red that was foreign and familiar. The guards dragged them outside and beat them, as Kodos had commanded, kicking with heavy boots and striking with their metal nightsticks until they curled helplessly on the dirt.

_I ended up being locked up with some other kids who were scheduled to be executed. Kodos decided I wasn't worth keeping around after all._ Everything went curiously dark and blurry, memories becoming indistinct, and their perceptions separated and Spock was shown flashes of a dirty metal holding cage and an awareness of about twenty other individuals with him. _But it was pretty easy for me to override the lock. I guess they didn't realize how good I was with computers. I busted everyone out and sixteen of us made it out of the city. I found us a cave and we lived there for four months, one week, and three days._

Images of the cave flashed before him. He was looking through Jim's eyes again, and they were watching the landscape with a grim set to their lips, studying the night as a small fire crackled behind them and the children they thought of as their own, even the older ones, sleeping even further back. They were sneaking through the town in the darkness with a boy with a hazy face – Benji who was a year younger than him – and a girl whose face was perfectly clear, a flat nose and full lips in a face smudged with dirt and framed by messy dark hair – Miriam who was two years older than them, who kissed them some nights when things were looking especially bleak, who was shot and died that night, and they returned to the camp without food and now without the girl who had acted as the mother figure for the little ones – for all of them. They watched helplessly as the two-year-old baby Lex succumbed to the starvation one afternoon and her older brother Ray who was four followed her the next week. They went looking for David and Shujix the Andorian boy one night when the two hadn't returned from the raid the night before and found their bodies beaten to a bloodied pulp at the outskirts of the city.

They were herding the last eleven children out of the cave while the noise of the patrol was approaching. Little Kevin who was secretly their favorite had sliced his foot open the week before and couldn't walk, much less run – so they piggybacked the ten-year-old boy to safety with the others, not stopping for two hours straight.

That was the night Starfleet finally arrived. A younger-looking Christopher Pike was burned into their memory, his shocked and almost repulsed expression as clear as the moment it had happened. They remembered Pike the most because he had been the one who found them, the children huddled against the trees with Jimandspock standing protectively in front of them, the weight of a phaser rifle, their only weapon, pulling at their trembling, emaciated arms.

"I'm with Starfleet," had been the first words Pike could find. "It's okay. I won't hurt you, you can put the weapon down. My name's Christopher Pike, I'm the First Officer of the starship _Farragut_, I'm going to help you, I promise..."

Everything was blurry after that. Spock's consciousness pulled away from Jim's as images were replaced with words. _I don't really remember much after that. We were in the medical bay of the Farragut for a long time. The first thing I really remember is – is landing back on Earth and screaming for them not to separate us, me and the – my kids. I... I never saw any of them again, after that._ For a moment there was only silence from Jim's mind as they floated in darkness, and Spock adjusted their connection slightly so that they were now standing across from each other, their surroundings indistinct and constantly shifting as though they were in a dream.

"That's about everything," Jim murmured, glancing away as Spock studied him silently. "I just kind of... rushed through it all, I guess. Sorry. But... now you know everything about my shitty life."

"I do not know how to even begin to express my sorrow for you," Spock replied, voice low and fervent, and their bodies met in a shower of light. "If I could, I would take all this pain from you. No one deserves to experience such a thing."

"It's okay," Jim replied reassuringly, taking on a light and almost joking tone as if to prove to the Vulcan that he was fine. "I'm a big kid. It's the past and there's nothing I can do about it and I'm okay with that now. It took a lot of time and therapy, but... I'm okay now." He chuckled dryly once, then paused somberly. "The only thing I still think about are the kids. I still wonder how they ended up, where they are now..."

"I will do all I can to find information on them," Spock replied suddenly, and Jim nearly laughed, surprised.

"Spock, I don't even know any of their full names. Good luck with that."

"I assure you I will do everything within my power," he vowed, and he flooded the younger man with a torrent of love and devotion. "I cannot, as you say, change your past. But I will endeavor always to make your future a pleasing one. I promise you this, t'hy'la."

"I love you too," Jim laughed as he pressed his lips to Spock's neck, and tranquilly they floated together in the ocean of their combined consciousness, cocooned together in a web warm with affection, happiness and love.

* * *

When Spock made promises, he kept them.

And so, late in the ship's night as Jim slept tangled in his sheets, he was searching the Starfleet data banks on his PADD – he had slept excessively and soundly lately so would not suffer any adverse effects even if he were to stay awake all through the ship's night. However, it seemed as though it would not take him quite that long to find what he was looking for.

He had enough security clearance to access the file of survivors – not that it would have mattered if he hadn't, because he was quite competent with manipulating computers into doing what he wanted. As he skimmed the list, he wondered why Jim had never simply looked up this list if he worried so about those he had saved – and a warm surge of affection for his illogical t'hy'la, who could be so intelligent and at the same time so foolish, blossomed in his chest.

"Computer," he said softly, mindful of said t'hy'la sleeping not far from him, desiring that he would not wake the Human. "Bring up the Stardate of James Kirk's rescue." The information flashed on the PADD screen with the entire file pertaining to him – next to the name "James Tiberius Kirk" was a picture of him that he recognized, one that had been on all the major news sites after the Narada Massacre. He ventured down the file only to stop suddenly, unnerved.

There were pictures of Jim at fourteen years old lying unconscious on a Sickbay bed on the _Farragut_. From the dates, they had been taken the day after he had been rescued. His pale teenage body was bruised and emaciated, every one of his ribs visible, the bones of his hips jutting out as if trying to break through his skin, his arms grotesquely thin and frail.

Spock looked away. In Jim's mind he had never gotten a good look at himself – at Jim – and so the pictures, quite frankly, disturbed him. He glanced back over at Jim sleeping in his bed, reassured himself of the man's healthy glow, the muscles that rippled beneath lightly tanned skin. (He recalled a conversation with the Human that had revealed that he made use of the ship's few tanning booths once a month – Jim had mumbled and blushed his way through explaining something about hating being pale that Spock could not see the point of.) A sense of relief came over him – his illogical Jim was healthy and strong, and this young, starved Jim was long gone. It was not logical to do so, but he felt better.

He scrolled back up, refocusing. "Computer, compile a list of all survivors rescued on the same date." A brief pause as the machine worked, then a list came up, their files springing up on the screen with it. Spock counted – yes, eleven, as Jim had said. They were all still alive, and warmth spread through Spock's chest. Jim would be delighted.

He began skimming through the basic information on each file, and paused upon seeing one with the current location listed as "USS _Enterprise_". He brought up the full file – Kevin Riley, Ensign, age twenty-three years. He pulled up the man's Starfleet file and saw that he had just transferred to the ship three months ago, working in Communications. Jim had signed the transfer confirmation himself.

Kevin Riley was listed on the ship's roster as working Beta shift. Spock felt quite pleased with himself – this would make things much easier than he had anticipated. He would speak to Ensign Riley tomorrow.

He put away his PADD and rejoined Jim in bed, holding the Human close as he sighed in his sleep. Spock stifled a smile into his cool shoulder.

He always kept his promises.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Hey guys... Before anyone says anything, yes, I realize it has been over two (three? I don't even know...) weeks since the last update and I am so, _so _sorry.

I feel terrible doing this but I really think I'm going to have to go on hiatus again. Between work and school, all of the time and energy I would have been spending on this is being sapped and I've been in something of a rut lately and writing has just been very difficult to do in the past several weeks. :( I am still working on the fic and am getting close to the end, but the snail's pace I'm moving at is not very conducive to frequent, consistent updates. I have one more chapter after this one typed up and ready to go and I will try and get that up next Saturday, but after that updates will probably be few and far between if they don't stop completely for probably about two months or so. I feel like a horrible person doing this, but I want to be able to give you guys the best writing I can produce and if I'm just scribbling things down during my lunch breaks just to have something to post, then that certainly isn't my best writing and I wouldn't want to do that to you guys. You have all been amazing readers, I couldn't ask for better, especially as someone relatively new to writing fic, so please understand that I'm not taking this decision lightly, but ultimately my schoolwork and my job are going to have to come first. :( In a perfect world I would be able to spend all my time working on this fic (and another I am planning, but shhh, you didn't hear that from me!), but alas, our world is far from perfect. So, I'm really very sorry, but** this fic will be going on hiatus for an indefinite period of time.**

Again I'm very sorry and I hope you all understand where I'm coming from. I'm just as unhappy about this turn of events as you might be :(

But luckily, this is a nice long meaty chapter, so hopefully it can tide you over until the next update. :)

(As a side note, I've decided to bump the rating up to an **M**. Nothing explicitly sexy or violent but there are hints of it now and there is likely going to be some stuff along that line in eventual later chapters, so I figured I might as well change it now.)

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

"_The most persistent sound which reverberates through men's history is the beating of war drums."_ - Arthur Koestler

* * *

Jim hated paperwork, he really did. But Spock had deflected his pleas for assistance with a vague "I am preoccupied", and so Jim sat grumpily by himself in his quarters, trudging through a week's worth of cargo approvals and purchase requests. What made things worse was that Spock had been radiating smugness all day, but refused to tell him why he had been so inordinately pleased with himself. Plus he was hungry – all of these things combined made for a very unhappy Jim.

His door chimed and he frowned, suppressing a groan. It wasn't Spock – he could sense the Vulcan several decks up, probably in the Science offices – and while he would welcome any reason to not do this paperwork, he would have much rather that distraction have been Spock.

"Come in, the door's unlocked," he called, and he looked up as the door slid open. A red-shirted Ensign stepped into his quarters, short-cut light brown hair over hesitant brown eyes in a face that looked a few years younger than himself.

"Sir," he said, saluting hastily with a peculiar expression pulling at his features. Jim studied him as he slowly set his PADD aside.

"Ensign... Riley, right? What do you need?" he asked. The Ensign nodded, still standing at attention.

"Yes, sir, Ensign Kevin Riley. I, um, I needed to speak with you, sir."

"At ease, Ensign. What is it?" he asked, wondering what the hell this ensign could possibly need from him. Didn't he have a supervising officer to go to with questions and things? From the back of his mind Spock projected calm, sending with it a message that Jim translated to "let the poor kid talk before you start getting mad at him, goddamn. Chill out!" Except decidedly more Vulcan sounding, but whatever, it was Jim's brain.

"Well, sir," Riley said uncertainly, reclaiming Jim's attention. "I'm... not sure how to say this, but... I don't think you remember me, sir, but we know each other. You... You carried me, once, from the cave through the Omala forest. You saved my life, sir."

Jim's heart stopped.

_Breathe_, Spock reminded him, and he sucked in a startled breath as he stood slowly, eyes wide. He was pretty sure he looked like a fool with his mouth half-open and eyes bulging, but somehow he didn't care.

"Kevin Riley," he said faintly, walking up to the Ensign. "_Kevin_. Oh, god. Oh my _god_." He threw his arms around the smaller man, his eyes prickling with tears, and Riley – no, _Kevin_ – hugged him back just as fiercely. "Holy shit. Holy _shit_."

He drew back, studying the young man's face with wide, frantic eyes, clutching him by his shoulders. "Oh my god. Look at you, _look _at you!" Kevin grinned at him, his glistening along with Jim's. "How did you – god, I don't even know where to start. How the hell did you find me?"

"I didn't," he confessed. "It was all Commander Spock, sir. Earlier today he tracked me down in Communications and asked to talk to me. I was afraid I was in trouble or something, but – he said to me, 'Ensign, are you aware that Captain Kirk is the same individual who protected you and a group of ten other children while on Tarsus IV?' and I – well, I about had a heart attack, sir."

"_Spock_," Jim breathed, biting his lip against a grin. "That sneaky bastard, my god. I can't believe this, you've been here all along..." He squeezed the younger man's shoulders. "You have to tell me all about yourself. Do you still keep in contact with anyone in the group? How did you end up on the _Enterprise_?"

Riley was eager to oblige, and in an hour Jim had learned that yes, he was still in contact with a few survivors, mostly with an older boy named Thomas Jeong who had been placed in the same orphanage as him after their rescue. He had been taken into foster care when he was thirteen and was shipped around a couple of times before enlisting in Starfleet when he was 18. He had gone in wanting to specialize in Intelligence, only to flunk out of the Intel program a year in – which was why he had only just arrived on the _Enterprise_ three months ago, since having to change his specialization track set him back nearly a year. He had ended up on the _Enterprise_ because even though he had failed out of Intel, he was more than competent in Communications, and an opening on the _Enterprise_ had luckily come up at just the right time. He talked with Thomas twice a week, and apparently Thomas had become a scientist, devoting his life to ensuring something like Tarsus would never happen again. Thomas was working with Shanti Rahman, who was best friends (still) with Leslie Kutchens, who lived in the same area as Benji Brex, and so on. They had all managed to stay in contact somehow – except, of course, their leader, the boy they had only known as Jimmy.

"We have get-togethers once a year, with other survivors. They broadcast it live and everything," Riley explained softly. "We could always speculate what had happened to you, where you were... I still can't believe it's really you, sir. You should go to the reunion next year. Seeing you would be, well, amazing for everyone."

"Oh, don't 'sir' me," Jim replied. "I... Yeah, I'll definitely go. I wish I'd known about it before. I have no idea how I managed to stay in the dark about all of you." He was silent for a long while, a faint smile toying at his lips as he studied Riley, hardly daring to believe this was real, while mentally harassing Spock.

_So that's why you've been acting like the cat who ate the canary all day_, he accused, overflowing with affection.

_I do not understand your illogical statement in the slightest_, came the equally loving reply.

_I love you so fucking much, you know that, right? You're goddamn amazing._

_ I am glad you are pleased, t'hy'la._

"How's the _Enterprise_ been treating you?" Jim asked finally, grinning at Riley. "Made any friends yet?"

"Well, a few," he replied, smiling nervously.

"Well, you're about to make a lot more. The command crew has get-togethers every Friday night. We're playing poker this week, and _you_ are officially invited." Riley flushed and stammered,

"Oh, I don't know, I work Beta all week..."

"I'll have your schedule fiddled with. Don't make me make it an order," Jim retorted, grinning. Riley laughed, still with a bit of a nervous expression, but answered,

"Yes, sir!"

* * *

True to his word, Jim brought Riley with him to the poker game on Friday. They were the last to arrive – Scotty, Sulu, Chekov and McCoy were gathered around the rounded table in the rec room they had reserved, Uhura mixing herself a drink a few steps away. Everyone greeted him loudly, and peered curiously as Riley, who shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny.

"Okay, you guys, introduction time," Jim said brightly, throwing an arm around Riley's slim shoulders. "This is Ensign Kevin Riley. As it turns out, we're old friends so I invited him along. Be nice to him!"

Riley hovered uncertainly for a moment before sitting down between Chekov and Scotty, while Jim plopped down next to McCoy, shooting a hesitant smile at the older man. McCoy pursed his lips in a grumpy smile back, which was a good sign (for him, at least).

An hour into drinking and a very casual few rounds, everyone seemed to decide poker was much less fun than gossiping (_socializing_, Uhura insisted) and the cards were abandoned.

_I wish you were here,_ Jim thought to Spock as Scotty and Chekov argued something physics-related and Uhura asked Riley how he liked working in Communications. _It's not really the "command crew" without you._

_Your gatherings are seldom exclusively the command crew, _came the bemused reply. _I do not see how my presence is important._

_ Because I miss you and wish you were here with me? _he ventured. Spock did not reply to that. _Please just come, you're not doing anything important. It'll be fun!_

_ The prospect of "fun" does nothing to persuade me,_ the Vulcan quipped. He paused, then added, _you, however, do. I will be there shortly._

_ You're the best, _he laughed, and warmth flooded his mind.

Spock stepped inside a few minutes later and Jim pretended to be surprised along with everyone else who grinned at him. The Vulcan simply nodded in greeting at the group and sat down between Jim and Uhura, and everyone carried on as they had before.

Spock watched, quietly content, as the group conversed around him. Jim's fingers played with his own beneath the table as the captain engaged in a merry argument with Sulu over which of the two would win in a fight.

In the midst of the debate, McCoy stood, went to the replicator, then went back and set a chocolate milkshake in front of Spock, who looked up at him with his eyebrows in danger of disappearing beneath his dark, immaculate bangs.

"Doctor?" he said questioningly, eying the milkshake with an air of extreme apprehension.

"Look," McCoy said gruffly, his voice low enough to prevent bringing attention to themselves. "I'm trying to be nice to you – for Jim's sake. It's a peace offering. I know alcohol does nothing for you so I figured some chocolate would be a better choice." Spock opened his mouth to protest, but McCoy continued, "It's rude to turn down a drink from someone, Spock. Just drink the damn thing. It'll make Jim feel better if we're playing nice." Spock repressed the urge to sigh and slowly took hold of the glass.

"Thank you, doctor," he said dryly, and took a sip. McCoy gave another grumpy half-smile and went back to his seat.

"Is that a chocolate milkshake?" Jim exclaimed obliviously moments later. "Let me have a sip!"

As it turned out, Spock was something of a sleepy drunk and not long after the milkshake was gone (as Jim had helped him, making quick work of it), he was slumped drowsily against Jim's shoulder. The clueless captain had a small freakout before McCoy explained the affects chocolate had on Vulcans to him, and then everyone in the room attempted (unsuccessfully) to stifle their laughter when Spock sleepily cuddled closer to Jim, who wasn't sure whether to think the whole situation was uncomfortably awkward or totally awesome. He was, however, leaning towards the latter, especially when the inebriated Vulcan began idly stroking his hands, sending hazy thrills of pleasure searing through the bond. Things didn't last long after that.

"Okay, I think we're gonna bail," Jim said sheepishly after about twenty minutes of attempting to appear interested in the conversation. "I'll see if I can get him to sober up, but either way I think it's Spock's bedtime. C'mon, get up." He hauled Spock to his feet and the Vulcan mumbled half-heartedly in protest, stumbling along before giving up and leaning against Jim (who, in spite of his protests, definitely did not mind).

He waved his goodbyes to the remaining party and had gotten halfway to the door when Spock looked at Jim and said, rather loudly,

"I wanna fuck." The room fell silent and Jim groaned, his face reddening, then laughed.

"I was trying to keep you from embarrassing yourself," he sighed, running a hand over his face. "Come on, let's get you out of here, you shitty drunk." A few chuckles ushered them out of the room, and when the door slid closed behind them Sulu turned to face the group and announced smugly,

"They are _so_ fucking."

* * *

Thankfully neither Spock nor Jim were working Alpha shift in the morning, because they woke up nakedly entangled with each other in Jim's bed, which would have been awesome if it weren't for the fact that Spock had the Vulcan equivalent of a hangover.

"You are one hell of a lightweight," Jim chuckled wryly from his desk as Spock sprawled miserably across his bed.

"I do not become purposely inebriated on a regular basis as you seem to do," he mumbled weakly in reply, eyes closed. "And I have never had a... 'hangover' before. It is an experience I do not wish to repeat. Ever." Jim bit his lip to stifle his chuckles, and sent sympathy and comfort through the bond.

"So what's it like, a Vulcan hangover?" he asked. "Headache with light sensitivity? Or noise sensitivity?"

"I am experiencing a headache," Spock answered. "However, I do not feel discomfort from light or noise. Rather..." He shifted amongst the blankets and groaned, dull pain filtering through the bond that he quickly masked. "Rather, I seem to be painfully sensitive to touch. My tactile senses have been affected other than aural or optical."

"Are you sure you're not just sore from riding me like a goddamn horse last night?" Jim asked with a smirk.

"...I do not recall – oh." He sat up abruptly, worry bursting through the back of Jim's mind. "I – Did I hurt you at all?"

"What? No," Jim replied, frowning. "Spock, you seriously need to stop thinking I'm gonna break if you start showing an ounce of aggression." Silently Spock settled carefully back onto the bed, tension draining from him in visible relief.

_I apologize, _he said faintly through the bond. _I... Did I do anything unseemly last night?_

_You nearly jumped me in the hallway after we left the party, after you announced to everyone that you were horny_, Jim thought back, grinning in spite of the mortification that colored Spock's face. _Other than that, no. Nothing public at least._

"I think I like you drunk," Jim continued mischievously. "Think of all the kinky things I'd get you to do that you'd never try sober."

"Jim, please," Spock sighed, closing his eyes.

"Sorry, sorry," he replied, standing up. "I'm gonna get you a glass of water and then you're gonna sleep this off."

"I will endeavor to do so." Jim grinned and paused by the bed as he walked across the room, then leaned down to place a gentle, feather-light kiss on Spock's forehead.

"I'll try and get you drunk more often just so I can dote on you the morning after," he chuckled quietly, and Spock's lips quirked in a tiny not-smile.

* * *

Nothing ever worked out the way it was supposed to. He should have known, but somehow Jim was always a bit surprised when things finally hit the fan. He should have seen it coming – but he didn't.

They had been patrolling near Orion space for three weeks and things had been quiet so far. The only Orion ships they had encountered were standard trade barges with all the proper permission and paperwork to be in Federation space, nothing suspicious. All of the planets and colonies they had checked up on so far reported nothing out of the ordinary, no problems with their neighbors. The tentative peace between the Federation and the Orion Syndicate seemed to be holding up as well as could be expected.

He should have seen it coming.

"Captain, sensors indicate an Orion ship approaching," Spock said, his voice interrupting a once-quiet bridge.

"Do we have visual?" he asked.

"No. We are not in close enough proximity," Spock replied, eyes fixated on his screens as his hands darted about the console. Kirk leaned back in his chair, lips pursed, then said briskly,

"Hail them, Lieutenant Uhura. Chekov, Sulu, bring us up alongside them. Mr. Spock, bring them up on the viewscreen as soon as we have visual." Smatterings of "aye, sir" resounded through the bridge, and Kirk drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair twice before Spock gently projected _be calm_ to him and his fingers stilled immediately.

"Visual on screen now," Spock announced as the spacescape on the viewscreen glimmered away and was replaced with an image of an Orion ship floating in space – and Kirk frowned.

"That doesn't look like any of the Federation-approved Orion ships," he said, studying the image.

"Indeed. It is not among such ships. The design is unfamiliar to me," Spock confirmed, and the beginnings of uneasiness began to seep through their bond as Uhura interjected,

"Sir, they're responding to our hail."

"Spock, divert the visual feed to the navigational console – keep an eye on them, Sulu. Uhura, put them on the screen." The viewscreen flickered again and the image of the foreign ship was replaced with the harsh visage of an Orion male, his head shaved and green skin glistening against a background of a small bridge made up of brown and golden shades. The Orion's gaze swept quickly across the bridge of the _Enterprise _before he said,

"Greetings. Who hails us?"

"This is Captain James T. Kirk of the starship _Enterprise_, representing the Federation," he replied steadily, unabashedly meeting the Orion's stony gaze. "Your ship is not on the approved list of Orion ships allowed to be in this sector of space. I'm going to have to ask to see your identification." The Orion simply nodded and shouted an order Kirk did not understand – he did not speak any Orion languages, but Uhura did as well as Spock and neither of them found the leader's command to be worrying, so he did not worry either.

"I was not aware my ship is not among the Federation-approved models," the Orion commander continued. "I received a permit to travel in Federation space without trouble."

"That's very unusual," Kirk replied dryly, obviously taking the man's claims with a grain of salt. He glanced over at Uhura, who nodded once to signal that they were receiving the ship's authorization documents, and on the other side of the bridge Spock leaned forward to study his screens.

Several things happened at once. Alarm burst through the bond in the back of Kirk's head just as Uhura exclaimed, "Captain, these documents are fake" and before Spock could finish his sentence of, "Seven unauthorized beings have been beamed aboard deck two", Kirk had leaned forward in his chair, activating ship-wide intercom as he commanded,

"Red alert, all decks on lockdown. Intruders on deck two, this is _not _a drill. Put our shields up, get a lock with photon torpedoes."

"Sir, they've cut off our visual feed," Uhura exclaimed as the screen went blank, just before Chekov snapped,

"They've locked weapons on us!"

"Shields at full strength; Sulu, get us the _hell_ out of here."

"Three of the seven intruders have been apprehended," Spock said, then the ship rocked violently and Kirk scrabbled to get a firm grip on the armrests of his chair before he could be thrown from it.

"A direct hit," Sulu growled. "They went right for our engines, sir." Kirk swore loudly and fumbled his communications controls.

"Scotty, how are the engines?" he demanded.

"Those Orions knew what they were doin', Cap'n, our warp drive's been shot," came the crackly reply. "I cannae say how bad it is yet, but it's not a pretty sight down here, sir."

"Do what you can," Kirk snapped back, shutting off the communicator. "Fire photon torpedoes on my mark."

"Shields are failing," Spock said, and, forcing down his increasing panic, Kirk commanded,

"Mark." The ship rumbled and the Orion ship on the viewscreen rocked with the impact. "One more on my mark – "

Panic exploded through Kirk's mind as Spock announced with strained calm,

"They are beaming individuals onto the bridge."

Until then Kirk had been wondering why the hell they were being attacked – Orion and the Federation were attempting to make peace, after all, and this certainly was _not_ peace. But as the whine of the transporter filled the bridge, everything suddenly clicked into place.

The only reason a non-approved Orion ship would be in Federation space was that the ship was a slaving vessel. The only reason a slaving vessel would attack a Federation starship was because the _Enterprise_ had something – some_one_ – they wanted. And the only someone worth risking an attack on the Federation flagship was Spock.

Since Vulcans had become an endangered species, the price of a Vulcan on the slave market had gone through the metaphorical roof – that was common knowledge, so the New Vulcan colony was heavily guarded against even standard Orion trade barges. And Spock, who was a hybrid and so even more exotic, more valuable, who was strong and beautiful – how much more would Spock be worth on the Orion black market?

Kirk had no intention of finding out.

"_Spock!_" he shouted as the Orions began to materialize, and he lunged towards the Vulcan as he felt understanding seep through the bond. He fumbled with his phaser and kicked Spock's chair into the nearest half-materialized Orion, hoping it would disrupt the beam enough to buy them a few more seconds to figure out how the hell they were going to handle this.

Kirk heard Spock draw his phaser behind him as the six Orions finally solidified – the one who had materialized into the chair roared in pain, feet and ankles fused into the plastiglass, and he toppled uselessly to the ground.

_To your right_, Spock thought at him, and Kirk fired to his right as Spock's phaser whined in his left ear. Three of the six Orions were down, and the bridge crew swarmed against the remaining three, phaser fire roaring through Kirk's ears, and the console nearest to them burst in a shower of sparks and they leaped away, Kirk clutching at Spock's arm without realizing what he was doing.

"Shit," he hissed as he brandished his phaser, trying to figure out where the hell the best place to aim was – the bridge wasn't exactly meant to be the location of a firefight. He could only hope that whatever controls had been damaged were not integral ones.

"Get off the bridge!" he exclaimed, pushing Spock towards the turbolift. "Get somewhere safe, _now_!"

"Jim – " he began to protest, but the words died in his mouth as Kirk pushed him again, a stream of worry and panic bursting through the bond – _please please just do it I'd die if they got you please Spock please _– and Spock leaped over a fallen Orion to dash for the turbolift doors as the whine of a transporter started up again.

"Uhura, go with him!" Kirk shouted, and the lieutenant complied without a word, running to join Spock in the turbolift. The doors slid closed as another seven Orions appeared on the bridge, and Spock and Uhura were carried away. For now Spock was safe, so Kirk turned his attention to the (very bad) situation at hand.

There were seven Orions on the bridge that they had to fight off now, and their forces consisted of Kirk himself, Chekov, Sulu, two yeomen uselessly shielding themselves with PADDs in the far corner, three tactical officers who had no remarkable close-combat skills to speak of, and a man from Security who had been on the bridge at the time of the attack. Their warp drive was apparently not working and he couldn't get ahold of Scotty until the bridge was calm enough for him to access the intercom on his chair without being shot down. The odds were not good, Kirk supposed, but he could deal with that.

He and Chekov fired at the same Orion, who crumpled to the floor. The young Russian exclaimed, "Keptin!" and Kirk had just enough time to whirl around and duck before another Orion fired at him. The security officer – Jones or Brown or something equally bland and forgettable – took down the offending Orion with two blasts of phaser fire and jumped towards the captain.

"Stay behind me, captain," he insisted, all but herding a protesting Kirk up against the nearest console before turning to face the fray, his broad shoulders and chest shielding Kirk from the firefight. Kirk swore angrily and attempted to aim his phaser around the larger man, but to no avail. A shout from across the bridge told him that Sulu had probably busted out his sword again (why the _hell_ he couldn't just use a phaser like a normal, sane person was beyond him), and after a shrill scream from one of the yeomen in the corner and an earsplitting burst of phaser fire, the bridge fell unsettlingly silent. Kirk shoved his way past the hulking Security officer and all but jumped to his chair, where he smashed down on the intercom and exclaimed,

"Engineering, Scotty – get us out of here, _now_!" For a moment there was no reply, then finally the speaker crackled,

"I'm tryin' to do just that, Cap'n, but our warp drive is barely functioning – "

"I don't care, Scotty, we _have_ to get into deeper Federation space!"

"Cap'n, if we use the warp drive now it could cause a warp core breach, we don't know the extent of the damage – "

"If we don't get out of here we're all dead anyway! Just do it!" he roared, hand clenching hard around his phaser. There was a pause and Chekov and Sulu stumbled back to their posts, Chekov supplying,

"Sir, our shields are nearly gone."

"Alright, alright," Scotty's voice came again, his tone strained. "I can get us maybe ten seconds of warp three safely, but I cannae guarantee how the ship'll be holdin' up after that, it could blow half the systems with a burst like that."

"Mr. Scott. Do it. _Now,_" Kirk growled, and Sulu's hands flew over the controls as Scotty replied in an almost anguished voice,

"Aye, sir."

There was a tense pause – Chekov exclaimed, "Sir, they're locking weapons on us again!" – Kirk shouted, "Now, Scotty, now!" – the ship gave a horrific groan and for a moment Kirk was sure they were all about to die – and then the familiar hum of warp reverberated through the near-empty bridge, and Kirk all but collapsed into his chair, his legs feeling suddenly weak and gelatinous. They were in warp for only a few seconds longer before the ship again groaned and lurched, and he winced at the noise, then the ship fell out of warp and they were floating – safely, he hoped – in Federation space. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for his intercom once more.

"How's it looking down there, Scotty?" he asked. The engineer answered after a brief moment, his voice thick and trembling as if he were on the verge of tears.

"Our warp drive's been completely shot. We've barely got impulse power, sir." Scotty sucked in a trembling breath and Kirk wasn't sure if he should be amused or worried at his obvious despair. "We're completely helpless, sir. We've got enough power to keep life support and communications running, but I cannae say how long that power will last. It's – it's not looking good down here, sir." Kirk closed his eyes and took in a steadying breath.

"Okay," he said carefully. "Keep life support and communications on priority. Can we get us moving on impulse too?"

"I... Well, I wouldn't recommend it."

"Alright. No impulse then. Kirk out." He glanced around the room. "Yeoman Stein," he said, recognizing the tall brunette woman. "Take over the communications console for now. You know how to send out a standard SOS, right?"

"I – yes, sir," she stammered, visibly composing herself. "Right away, sir." He turned away as she seated herself at the communications console – and then suddenly Kirk was painfully aware of the bond humming with worry and he gasped without thinking, "_Spock_."

He all but jumped out of the chair, shouting to no one, "Take the conn!" before all but running to the turbolift.

"Captain!" came more than one protest, but the doors slid shut and he ordered, "Deck five." He could feel Spock, could feel that he was in the rec room on deck five, and through the bond he projected desperately _wait for me, I'm coming, I'm coming for you_.

Within moments he was hustling through the halls of deck five, phaser drawn – but it seemed all the intruders had been neutralized, or Spock had made a very lucky guess and there had been none on this deck. It was completely empty and when Kirk arrived at the door to the rec room he called out,

"Spock, Spock!"

The door slid open and Spock stood there and Jim could have cried – he was okay, he was safe, he knew it from the bond but seeing it for himself made it somehow truer – and with a barely-stifled cry he grabbed the Vulcan in a crushing embrace.

"I was so scared," he breathed, hands clutching at the blue fabric of his tunic. "I was so scared they would get you – oh god Spock if they got you..."

"They did not," Spock replied softly, holding the smaller man closer to him. "I am safe, Jim. I am safe."

"I know," he said, barely above a whisper with his eyes squeezed shut. "I know."

"Captain," came an uncertain, feminine voice, and suddenly Jim remembered Uhura. Slowly he pulled away from the Vulcan and turned to face her, saying briskly,

"Excellent job, Lieutenant." She managed a wry smile at that and replied,

"What's our status, sir?" He winced, remembering the pitiable state the ship was in.

"Not good," he answered. "We've got barely enough power to keep life support and communications online, but Scotty says he's not sure how long that'll last. We're sending out a standard SOS right now."

"Who's at communications?"

"Some yeoman who happened to be on the bridge," he replied, biting his lower lip. "Can you return to your post?" She shot him an incredulous look as she stepped into the doorway.

"Do you even need to ask?" she replied, managing a small smile. "Right away, sir." She all but marched out into the hall, leaving the two men to themselves.

"Jim," Spock said, and Jim turned back to him. "I must go to Engineering. I will be able to assist Mr. Scott in repairs."

"No," Jim replied quickly, frowning. "I'm not letting you down there. It's not safe. We could be risking a warp core breach right now for all I know, you're _not_ going down there." Spock raised an eyebrow and protested,

"If there were a warp core breach, it would make little difference if I were in Engineering or elsewhere. We would all perish. If there is something I can do to help ensure the safety of the ship, I am obligated to do so."

"No," came the curt, unrelenting answer. "Don't make me make it an order, Mr. Spock."

Irritation – anger, even – flooded the bond but Jim answered it with his own deluge of obstinate stubbornness, and finally Spock lowered his head very – _very_ – slightly in acquiescence and Jim breathed again.

"I'm only worried about you," he said in a low voice. "You know that."

"I know," he replied, a hint of irritation still lingering in the back of Jim's mind like an aftertaste, and the Human frowned.

"Come here," he said, and Spock stepped forward and Jim kissed him. "Stop making me mad at you. I was just fearing for your life not too long ago."

"I am aware of this," Spock replied stonily, then softly added, "The sentiment is mutual." His hands found Jim's, and for a brief moment the captain could forget that they might all be moments from death – still – and he was glad.


End file.
